Harry Potter and the Hand of Midas
by LordsBecca
Summary: *Complete!* The Hand of Midas. Powerful beyond your imagination. Deadly if it were to fall into the hands of Voldemort and he's getting closer. Now Harry, Ron, and Hermi must stop Voldemort from obtaining the Hand, before it's too late.
1. Stories

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TITLE: Harry Potter and Hand of Midas

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AUTHOR: Becca

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E-MAIL: lordsbecca@yahoo.com

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RATING: PG-13

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ARCHIVE: I'll need to approve it first. This is my baby!!! ::hugs story::

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SUMMARY: The story of King Midas and the Golden Hand is true. And the Dark Lord, Voldemort, intends to find and use the hand. But there's only one obstacle preventing him from obtaining the ultimate power. It's name: Potter.

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**DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, violets are blue, me no own, so you no sue! Ooh boy, do I love my muses. ::hugs muses like there's no tomorrow:: 

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**__**

Chapter One – Stories

"Prometheus," she continued, "was strapped to a mountain, with unbreakable chains. Zeus then called upon a vulture, who would eat Prometheus' liver. Every day, the vulture would feed, and every night, the liver would grow back, allowing the vulture to eat the next day, and so on."

Ron cringed. "Gross, Hermione. That's just gross."

Hermione smiled. "It's the classic story of how fire came upon the mortal man. And, of course, it all makes sense. If there were no fire, we couldn't survive. How could we have had primitive cooking? Heat? None of it would have been possible."

"But still, Zeus didn't have to torture Promechiwee like that."

"You mean, Prometheus."

"Whatever."

Harry smiled. "I like that story, Hermione. Where did you hear this?"

"It's a myth, Harry," she explained. She pulled a book out of her bag, and handed it to him. "Myths are much like fairy tales, or fables, but they were used to teach how things came to be."

Harry flipped through the pictures of the book. "Do you have anymore good stories?"

Hermione sat in thought. "Well, I could tell the tale of Persephone. Or..." she paused. "No, it's not exactly a _myth_, more of a moral story."

"Which story?"

"King Midas and the Golden Hand."

Harry smiled. "I love that story. Someone should tell it to Malfoy."

Hermione laughed. "It's a wonderful moral. Selfishness ends in misery."

"What?" Ron stared at them, completely confused. "What's the story?"

"King Midas, ruler of an old land, was greedy, selfish, and self-centered. He had a family, including a daughter, who he loved dearly. Some say, it was because she always gave him wonderful presents. Never the less, he cared about his daughter more then _almost_ anything: he cared more about gold. Gold and jewels he could never resist, and would except them whenever he possibly could.

"During this birthday, he of course, received hundreds of gold and jeweled pieces from the kingdom. Each person had to present the gift themselves, that way, Midas could tell it to their face that it was horrible. When an old woman handed him a rusty old lamp, Midas glared at her, and demanded to know why he was given such a horrible gift. 

"She said, 'Do not be fooled, Midas. Inside the contents of this lamp lies a genie, willing to give you one wish. That's it: one.'

"Midas, of course, was overwhelmed. To have anything he wanted, at the tip of his fingers! He accepted the other gifts, then rubbed the lamp, awakening the genie.

" 'Genie, I have a wish. It's quite simple: I want everything that I touch to turn into pure gold. I want my hand to turn everything to gold with just one touch.' The genie granted this wish.

"Midas touched his throne, and it became solid gold. He touched his robes, and they too became gold. And, just like his wish, everything he touched from then on became a valuable, solid, gold. 

"But Midas was clumsy. At dinner, he'd touch his chicken, and it would become gold. When he wanted to wash himself, he'd turn the soap to gold. And, when his daughter gave him a new crown, he hugged her, turning her into solid gold.

"Midas was deviated. He stopped calling his hand 'his gift from God', and called it 'his curse from Hades'. He touched his face by accident, eventually, and killed himself. 

"The servants and wife of Midas decided to cut off his deadly hand, and rid the world of it. They threw into the ocean, where it remains to this date."

While Harry just smiled at Hermione, and looked out of the window, Ron stared. 

"Why would he touch his daughter?"

"He loved her, Ron. He wanted to give her a hug."

He stared. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a father daughter relationship, okay? Something you wouldn't understand. Something that is special between a father and daughter only: sons could never appreciate it."

He just continued staring. 

Hermione looked at Harry. "How much longer until we're at Hogwarts, Harry? This train is taking forever, it seems."

"Just an hour or so more; we're almost there."

^*^*^

Draco Malfoy bit into his Chocolate Frog. "And as for her story of the fire, that's total rubbish. Not one person would disobey the King of the Gods, Zeus."

Goyle laughed stupidly. "And what about the gold hand story?"

Draco swallowed the chocolate, and put the rest down. "Now, that story was anything _but_ foolishness. My father has told me the same story." He leaned in towards his two cronies. "And you know what? My father, along with the Dark Lord, intends to find that hand."

Crabbe laughed. "You can't be serious! Even _I_ know that story is all a lie. It never happened, Draco."

"Did so!" Malfoy pouted. "My father would never lie. He's positive. Even Voldemort has heard the story of Midas. He believes it as well. And that hand is somewhere in the ocean."

Goyle gave a bewildered look. "But...but if the hand was in the water, then wouldn't the water have turned to gold? Wouldn't the oceans be pure gold?"

Draco smiled. "Now, that is the question, isn't it?"

Crabbe and Goyle just stared at each other, both very baffled with Draco's question and smug smile.

^*^*^

"What do you _mean_?"

"I'm just asking where it is, Lord."

Voldemort had exploded. "**I don't know where it is! You'll have to find it yourself! **_Petrificus Totlalus!_" He shot the spell at Lucius Malfoy (the full-body-bind), and turned to Wormtail. "Drag this piece of insignificant shit to the dungeons. He can think of where the Hand of Midas is while there."

Wormtail, nodded, bowed, and grabbed Lucius' feet. He dragged him down to the dungeons, just as his master had commanded. 

Voldemort was left alone, to think about the Hand. 

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This Hand, he thought, _could allow me to become the most powerful again. To have the Hand of Midas! But where is it?_He shifted in his throne, uncomfortable with not-knowing where his source of power was. _I would need the answer. And that means killing Potter. Yes...but that's a problem within itself. I must get it...but first, Potter must go._

^*^*^  
Oh, please review! ::begs:: I love this story, and it's going to be great! Just give it a chance, k? KAY!


	2. To Ask Some Favors

**__**

Chapter Two – To Ask Some Favors

The air around Hogwarts was cold, and sour. There was no sweet smell of rain, which Harry could usually sense when he arrived at his school. Instead of a deep blue, with specks of white stars, (which winked in a welcoming fashion at the students), there were heavy clouds, so thick, they completely covered the half moon. 

The first years split from the rest of the students, going into boats, and floated across the water to get to their new school. The fog over the lake created a strange sight for all the students; none of them have ever seen it that way. The rest of the students traveled in carriages to the magnificent castle. 

Just before Harry closed the door to his carriage, he looked around for his half human, half giant friend, Hagrid. When he couldn't see him through the dark, he sighed sadly. He closed the door, and sat back down, next to Ginny Weasley, across from Hermione and Ron. 

^*^*^

"This isn't right. You know for a _fact_ he wants it; and you know for a _fact_ he must kill him for it, Albus. You have to tell him."

Dumbledore shook his head profusely. "No, no, no!" He sat down into his large chair. "Minerva, I know you care about young Harry. I do too. But I can't have him living in even more fear. Besides, he's not ready to know the truth."

Minerva McGonagall gaped at the Headmaster. "Not ready? _Not ready_? The Dark Lord has risen again, Albus! Have you missed that fact? He may be afraid now…but he doesn't even know _why_!" She sighed sadly, shook her head, and spoke softly. "Albus, he may only be fifteen years old, but he's been through more then anyone I know." She paused. "Well, except you, of course."

"Minerva…" Dumbledore tried to smile. "I understand that emotionally he has lived hundreds of years, but he is still too young." He opened up a drawer, and pulled out a parchment. "Minnie, you must keep this document a secret. The only others who know of it, are Sirius Black, and Severus Snape." He unrolled the parchment, and began to read. 

__

Dear Headmaster,

As you know, Voldemort is after my family. We have no knowledge of when he should attack, or if he will be coming with an army of Death Eaters. Because of this, my wife Lily and I would like to ask you some favors, of how to raise our son, Harry.

Lilly and I do not want Harry to know of his family's past until the age of eighteen. Then, everything may be explained by his Godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius knows everything which is happening. We do not wish for Harry to know of his ancestors, nor of why Voldemort wishes to kill all Male Potters. Should Voldemort survive during Harry's childhood, please protect him in anyway you can, until he has turned to a reasonable age to marry, and procreate. Remember to tell him before he weds he must have a son: or everything we Potter's stand for shall be gone. 

Please, Albus, I know I can trust you. Keep this document a secret; only Sirius Black, Harry's Godfather and my best friends knows of this letter. It is very important to follow these instructions; Lily and I feel it best he not know anything until he is eighteen. 

Thank you, Albus. Thank you for everything. 

Sincerely,

James Potter

Minerva stared at the letter. "James was insane. This is ridiculous!" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "It has been this way for centuries, Minerva. I can't break the Potter ways. And I must say, I agree. It was stared way back when…by…" he stopped. "Well, you know who the original Potter was."

Minerva nodded. "But there is no way James could have known things would be this bad. And who _knows_ when Harry will get married." She frowned. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he isn't very…_flirtatious_."

"True," Dumbledore agreed. "But I honestly don't think we'll have to wait must longer until he notices Ginny Weasley. She's doing a fine job." He smiled.

Minerva gave a slight laugh. "I guess. I just hate knowing that Harry is living scared and confused."

"Three more years, Minnie. Then, he can know."

^*^*^

Voldemort paced his room. _How to get him...how to get him..._, he kept thinking. His faithful snake, Nagini, slept by the fireplace, only waking to the sounds of a mouse scurrying in other caverns. He looked at her constantly, trying to get inspiration on how to kill The Boy Who Lived. 

He fell into his chair, too weak to do anymore "exercise". "Oh, Nagini," he said quietly. "When will I win?"

The snake continued to sleep.


	3. Teachers

**__**

Chapter Three – Teachers

"Professor," the man said to Dumbledore. "Thank you for taking me back. I'm sure you know that two years ago, I had the happiest time of my life here. My return to Hogwarts was unforgettable."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course, Mister Lupin. I still can't believe you'd think I wouldn't ask you to come back." He sat down at his desk, and gestured for Remus Lupin to sit as well. Remus did. "The only reason you left two years ago, was because every student learned of you a werewolf, and told their parents. Naturally, I received some very angry letters, protesting my decisions." He frowned. "But those parents have more important problems then having a genius werewolf teach their children, don't they?"

Despite the compliment, Remus frowned. "Yes, I'm sorry to say they do." He shifted uneasily in his chair. "How..." he looked down at this hands in worry. "How's Harry?"

"Actually, Mister Lupin," Dumbledore said, "I haven't been able to see him, let alone talk to him."

"I'm just worried, Professor. As you can imagine." Remus fussed with his robes.

"He's a strong boy, Remus," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "I'm sure he's doing fine."

Remus nodded uncertainly, and looked back up at the old man. "How are the Diggorys doing? I hope they're handling it well."

"Actually," Dumbledore handed the Daily Promphet to Remus. "Both seem to be doing much better. They've begun to volunteer at a Quidditch training camp. Want to continue creating the best Seekers possible, I dare say." He smiled. "Of course, no Seeker they teach will be able to beat _our_ Harry."

Remus smiled, "You've got that right. I only wish James could see his son; they're identical, they are."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, remembering the young James Potter – and his letter.

^*^*^

The four friends stepped inside the Great Hall, which was light magnificently by floating candles. They, of course, sat at the Gryffindor table, next to Seamus and Dean, Harry and Ron's other roommates. They talked, but quieted when the first years, all shaking with nerves, stepped into the Great Hall. They watched patiently as the young boys and girls stepped up to the Sorting Hat. 

Watching all of it made Harry think of what the Sorting Hat said to him, on his first day of school. 

__

"Hmm," it had said...a small voice in his ear. _"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, not that's interesting....So where shall I put you?"_

Harry remembered thinking, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_, to which the had replied, _"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all there in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if your sure – better be _**GRYFFINDOR!**"

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Harry always wondered what would have happened, if the hat had decided to put him into Slytherin.

"Beam, Amanda!" McGonagall announced. A young girl stepped up to the hat. It was placed onto her head, and after a few seconds, it screamed, "**RAVENCLAW!**"

Harry turned to see the Ravenclaw table cheer. He noticed Cho Chang, and suddenly thought of Cedric Diggory—her late boyfriend, who was killed just last year. Harry continued to blame himself for Cedric's death. _It's all because I decided not to be selfish_, Harry thought. _Had I been selfish, he wouldn't have grabbed the Goblet. My fault..._

He continued to stare at Cho, only turning away when someone began to speak to him.

"Harry," Seamus asked him, "Will you be the Quidditch team captain? I mean, Oliver is gone, and you're one of the greatest players we've ever had."

Harry smiled. "What about the twins? They've been there much longer then I have...I'd....I'd barley know how to train the team. Fred and George would do a much better job, I say."

Seamus raised an eyebrow. "If you say so." He grinned. "I never thought of them _giving_ rules...always _breaking_ them."

Harry could only laugh.

^*^*^

He continued to pace around the cold dungeon, and occasionally threw a dart at the man's picture, which was mounted on a door. He fought a great urge to ruin the potion; the only thing that kept the man in his place. His mind replayed the same question over and over again: _How did he get the position? He's a werewolf for Christ's sake!_

A knock a the door caused him to aim poorly, and totally missed the man's face on the door. He snarled, and opened the door to see the man's face in his doorway.

"What?" Severus Snape spat.

Remus' lip curled, just slightly. "Dumbledore would like you down at the feast. He's quite disappointed you have not shown up yet, I dare say."

Snape grabbed Remus' robes, and shoved the man up against the cold, stone walls. "You think you're so smart. You've stolen the position from me again. But you won't last, Remus. You're going to fail. Like all the others."

Remus smiled smugly at the Potions master, and pulled his wand from a pocket. "I have it in mind to use the Crucatus curse on you, _Severus_," Remus said the man's name like a curse word, "But I'm not that low. _Tarantallegra!_"

Severus fell to the floor, his legs shaking violently. Remus looked around the room, and found his face on the door, covered with darts. He walked swiftly over to the door, pulled the darts out, and walked back over to Snape. 

"Don't. Do this. Again." 

Remus aimed a dart, and threw it, and threw the rest after that, each landing exactly where he planned. Snape was pinned to the floor: the darts had hit various parts of his cloak and pants. His legs were flying everywhere, but his body was pinned firmly down.

"I'll tell the Headmaster you aren't feeling well. Is that all right with you, _Professor_?"

Snape could only sneer.

^*^*^

"Move aside, please, move aside!" Hermione said, her voice firm with authority. She pushed her way to the front of the Gryffindor crowd, as she was the Perfect, and the only with the Gryffindor password. 

The Fat Lady looked down at the students, and smiled at Hermione. "Password, dear?"

"Fairydust," Hermione said clearly. 

The Fat Lady broadly grinned, and swung open, allowing all the Gryffindor students to enter. The first years marveled at the interior common room, while everyone else sat in their usual places, and began to fool around. 

Hermione sighed. She pointed her wand at her throat, and whispered, "_Sonorus!_" Suddenly, her voice was louder then all the noise in the room. "Please, please, your attention everyone!" 

The room immediately quieted, with a few first years turning towards others and saying, "Shh!"

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Now, I have a few announcements...First years should note they are not permitted to have their own brooms, and have no permission to be allowed on the Quidditch team. That is, unless, you blow us away with some amazing Keeper plays," she said, causing the rest of the Quidditch team to nod in agreement. With Wood gone, they weren't sure who would be playing his position, Keeper.

"The Quidditch team will be holding their first meeting the Wednesday after Halloween. There, they will vote on a captain, and discuss tryouts for anyone who is second year and older, who wishes to be a part of our wonderful team.

"And, though I'm sure I'll just be repeating what Headmaster Dumbledore said during the feast, I have been told to address you all on the events which are going on in today's world."

The room fell totally silent.

"As I'm sure all of you know, the Dark Lord has risen. First years, I can _assure_ that you are as safe as you will ever be, with Dumbledore watching after you." Hermione refused to make eye contact with Harry. "Here at Hogwarts, we have excellent teachers, who will protect you, and teach you how to protect yourselves. I must say, if there was only one class I could take this year, it would be Defense Against the Dark Arts. Of course, this class is required for everyone, and I suggest you take advantage of the wonderful teacher, Professor Remus Lupin."

Many of the students, who were around two years ago, clapped, and a few (Ron and Harry) even cheered. Hermione smiled.

"Yes, yes, he _is_ a wonderful teacher, isn't he?" She yawned, and noticed a few of the first years yawning also. "Well," she finished, "I suppose that's it. First year girls follow me. First year boys, follow Harry and Ron."

Harry and Ron glared at Hermione for giving them the responsibility. 

She grinned back.


	4. Failed

**__**

Chapter Four – Failed

Harry sat up, staring out the window of his room. Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all asleep, Neville snoring loudly. The moon had broken through the clouds, and lit the Whomping Willow and lake. Once in a while, Harry could see the large squid pop a tentacle out of the lake, but it always fell back in. Once in a while, Harry could see the Whomping Willow attack a mouse – it was always followed by a random owl swooping down and eating the kill.

Harry had too many thoughts floating in his head. Too much had happened over the summer. Too many people had died. All because of him. At least, that's what he believed. No one blamed him; it wasn't as if he _willingly_ gave his blood to Voldemort. He put up a fight...as much of a fight as he could handle. 

He kept thinking of what it was like, seeing Cedric and his parents come out of Voldemort's wand. The utter horror that filled every nerve of his body. How hard it was to hold the connection until his father told him to let go.

It was strange, taking orders from a father. And not a father figure, like Sirius Black or Remus Lupin, but a _real_ father. His _true_ father. Seeing his mum had made his heart leap. It took a while to realize how much he missed them after that.

The only other time he and been "with" them, was when he had found the Mirror of Erised. It was strange then, too. His mother and father waving too him. He felt horrible when Dumbledore told him it would be moved somewhere else. He thought he'd never see his parents again.

But he did see them again. Just not under good conditions.

A movement from somewhere in the room made Harry jump out of his thoughts. He looked around, listening for the scratching sound again. He squinted through his glasses, finally see a small mouse scurrying under the beds. When the mouse realized it had been spotted, it froze, standing on two legs, completely still.

"I won't hurt you," Harry said, even though he knew the mouse wouldn't be able to understand a word he was saying. "You just go on finding food." Harry turned his head away from the mouse, and back to the moon.

The mouse scampered away.

^*^*^

Lucius woke to a pounding headache. After a few moments, he remembered his three bottles of flavored vodka that he downed the night before. The feeling of the bad hangover caused him to spend some time in the bathroom before showing up at the breakfast table.

As he sat at his large table, he heard the unmistakable "humph" from his wife, Narcissa, which caused him to wince. 

"Morning, darling," he said, standing up to give her a kiss on the cheek.

She pulled away from him. "Don't start, Lucius." Her voice was cold, and harsh as she spoke to him. "Where were you last night?"

Lucius didn't know how to answer. "I…"

"And don't you _dare_ tell me you were searching for that _Oracle_ again." Her eyes narrowed.

Her husband swallowed hard. "N-No, dear—" 

"Because if I remember correctly, I told you that if you search for the pointless Oracle again, you'll be living in a cardboard box on Knockturn Ally. And You wouldn't want that," she smiled sweetly, "would you?"

Lucius shook his head. "No, no of course not, dear. Besides, I wasn't looking for the Oracle. I told you before: we know where it is. The," he coughed, "Potter family has it."

Narcissa glared at him. "You leave that boy alone, Lucius. He may not be…'on your side', but he didn't do anything to you, and if you do anything to him…"

"Knockturn Ally?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I'm not joking, Lucius. You crossed the line when you fought with Arthur Weasley three years ago. But I forgave you. You won't be so lucky next time."

"Arthur," Lucius spat, "is a fool. Someone needs to wake that Muggle-Lover up and make him act like the Pureblood he is."

"I'm warning you, Lucius," Narcissa threatened, "One wrong move…"

Lucius fell into his seat at the table, and whispered, "Yes, dear."

^*^*^

The Gryffindor students stared at their schedules, groaning when they saw that their first class was Potions: and with the Slytherins. 

"I can't take another year of this," Ron complained, dropping his fork down and refusing to eat anymore of his pancakes. "I've gotten too many low marks in Potions. Why can't I just drop it?"

"Because," Hermione said, "it's important to your learning career. I can remember when we've needed Potions in the past." She lightly smiled at Ron's look of disgust.

"I wouldn't call the Polyjuice Potion a potion, Hermione. I'd call it a curse."

She glared at him. "If it hadn't been for that potion—"

"If it hadn't been for that potion, I wouldn't have to waste my valuable time in the Slytherin common room, trying to figure out who the Slytherin Heir was by talking the that jerk Malfoy."

In their second year of Hogwarts, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had suspected Draco Malfoy of being the Slytherin Heir, and the one who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. The Chamber of Secrets unleashed a foul and dangerous creature, called a Basilisk, which caused chaos in the school. The Basilisk, which is basically a dangerous, deadly snake, petrified four Hogwarts students, (Hermione being one of them) and a Hogwarts ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. Harry and Ron, with the help of a petrified Hermione found out that the real Slytherin Heir, Tom Riddle, was controlling Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister, through a diary. Harry ended up defeating Tom Riddle (now more commonly called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named), and saving a dying Ginny Weasley.

Hermione just rolled her eyes at Ron, and turned back to her schedule. "Well," she said, with a happier tone, "at least we have Care of Magical Creatures right after Potions. And with the Hufflepuffs. At least we can have Hagrid there to cheer us up, eh?"

Harry nodded. "I can't wait to see Hagrid. I missed him when we got off at the train..." he paused. "Did...did either of you see him?"

Ron shook his head. "No, but we were one of last ones getting off. Remember?" He bit some of his bacon. "I mean, there weren't very many first years. He probably didn't have to wait to long to gather them all up. 

Harry thought about this, then finally agreed. "I guess so."

Hermione continued looking at her schedule, when she said, "Oh! Boys, it's time to get going. We should go get out books."

Ron rolled his eyes. "We have five minutes," he said, looking at his watch. 

"No," Hermione said, showing him hers. "Your battery is dead," she pointed out. Ron's watch said "12:30 AM"

"Damn Muggle product!" he cursed, and threw it off. "No offence, Harry," he said. Harry had given it to him for a birthday present.

^*^*^

"I suggest, to _all_ _of you_, that you stay out of my hair. I will admit I'm not in the happiest of moods," he paused. "This summer did not go so well for me."

Ron leaned over to Harry. "Gee, maybe that _mark on his arm_ was annoying him."

Snape glared at Ron. "Weasley, that is exactly what you should _not_ do, and will not get away with this year. Five points from Gryffindor." He ignored Ron's outraged face and turned to the Slytherins. "None of you will get away with anything, either. You cross the line, and you will lose points. Maybe even receive detention. And trust me: Mister Filch would _love _ to have you—he has found his hooks."

A few students gulped at this, others looked confused.

Snape smiled evilly, causing shivers up the students' backs. "And, I will not tolerate failure this year," he said, looked directly at Neville Longbottom, who was so frightened, he was severely shaking.

"NOW," Snape said, making everyone jump at his sudden uncharacteristically loud voice, "Open your books to page fifty, and work on the Polyjuice Potion." 

Ron groaned.

"WHAT was that THAT, Weasley?!"

Ron gulped. "Stomachache, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but ignored Ron after that.

Hermione turned to Harry and Ron, and whispered, "Well, I'm rather excited about this year. How about you two?"

Harry and Ron just bit their lips.

^*^*^

A knock caused the old Headmaster too look up from his papers, and stand. "Enter."

A large, black dog strutted into the room. He was a rather thin dog; as if he was not properly fed. He carried in his teeth a paper, The Daily Promphet. His tail was barley wagging, though as the got closer to the Headmaster's desk, it began to wag faster. 

"Sirius."

The dog barked, dropped the paper, then morphed into a tall, black haired man with light stubble on his chin.

"Headmaster."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, until Sirius bent down and picked up the paper off the floor.

"Another attack, sir."

Dumbledore stared at Sirius. His voice choked up, as he whispered, "You're joking."

Sirius shook his head sadly. "I—I'm afraid to mention the family, Sir."

"I dare not ask."

Sirius placed the paper in front of the man, and stepped back. "Someone should tell him, Sir. His only family."

Dumbledore sat down hard, and stared at the headline on top of the paper. He held his head in cupped hands. "I have failed."

"No!" Sirius cried, leaning on the desk. "_He's_ still alive, Albus. That's all that matters. True...we'll need to find a new home. But sir," he leaned farther in, and made Dumbledore look up at the man's intense eyes. "You have not failed."

Dumbledore could only sigh, and he stared at the headline. "I still can't believe it."

"You knew it would happen."

"Well, yes," Dumbledore said. "But I was hopping he'd be out of school..." He looked up sadly at Sirius. "What are we going to do?"

Sirius coughed. "I'm...I'm not sure, Sir."

"The Dursleys..._dead_..."

"_I_ can't believe Arabella Figg didn't mention anything to us."

"She's probably too old to even remember who Harry is," Dumbledore said. He suddenly grinned. "Well, I guess I'm one to talk, right?"

Sirius forced a smile. "I should go see her."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "That may be a good idea. But first," he sighed sadly. "Let us inform young Harry."


	5. Curses and Puffskeins

**__**

Chapter Five – Curses and Puffskeins

Snape scribbled something with his quill onto the paper in his hand, and he looked at Harry Potter's potion. He then looked at Ron Weasley's and Hermione Granger's. They were eerily perfect, which was unusual for Harry and Ron, both who usually suffered in Potions class, along with Neville Longbottom. 

"Strange, Potter...Weasley," he said, staring at their potions again. He dipped a finger in to feel the density, shocked at how perfectly runny it it was. "This is the only potion you can do well. Have you two had... _practice_, or is Granger here just helping you two cheat?"

Harry said nothing, and kicked Ron under the table as he opened his mouth to tell Snape off.

Snape just curled his lip and walked away to look at Draco Malfoy's, which by Snape's reaction, wasn't coming as well along as Harry and Ron's was.

"If Potter and Weasley can do it," Snape said, "then you can, Mr. Malfoy. Get your act together."

Suddenly, the door of the dungeon opened, and a tiny house-elf walked in. "Excuse me, Professor Snape?" it squeaked, causing Harry to look up from his cauldron. He recognized that voice; it was unmistakably Dobby.

"What?" Snape said nastily, angered that his class was disrupted.

"Headmaster Dumbledore would like to see Mr. Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, his grammar surprisingly perfect, and his voice calmly steady.

Snape looked at Harry, who was looking utterly confused. Snape nodded, and said, "Potter, pack up your things. You won't have time to come back here and finish. Put your cauldron on that side of the wall...yes, right there...and Weasley will mark your name on it before he leaves. The Polyjuice Potion needs to sit. Alright, get out of my sight..."

Harry grabbed his bag and books, mouthed "Bye" to Ron and Hermione, and followed Dobby out the door.

Snape sneered at Harry's back, and then went back to checking on everyone's potions.

"Excellent, Crabbe, though it's a tad too thick...Much better, Mr. Malfoy. Yes,. I dare say that's _much_ better...Oh, Goyle, this is green. Now, that's not right, is it? Didn't think so."

A sudden sizzle form the Gryffindor side made Snape look up from Goyle's pot, and look around.

"I thought I made it clear," Snape spat as he rounded on Neville Longbottom, "that you should only be adding _two_ octopus spleens, and _one_ frog lung." Snape leaned down so far, his long, crooked nose was almost touching Neville's trembling cheek. "Are you always this stupid? Or am I just lucky enough to have to put up with you?

Hermione gasped at Snape's harsh words.

Snape turned to Hermione, his face bright red. "and what is wrong with you, _Mudblood_?"

Everyone, even the Slytherins, gasped at Professor Snape.

Ron took out his wand, and fiercely said, "_What did you say to her_?"

"Weasley," he chuckled, "put that stick back. You threaten me again, and you get expelled." He looked around, and spat; "Back to work! _All of you!_"

The class jumped back tow work, eyeing each other nervously. Never had a teacher _cursed_ at a student. The word "Mudblood" was a harsh, evil word that people used to describe a wizard (or witch in this case),. Who was born from Muggle parents. People like Draco Malfoy used that kind of language, and the fact that a Professor hand spoken to a student so horribly was frightening to the rest of the students; no matter what house they were in.

"Time's up," Snape said quietly. "Make sure your name is on your cauldron, put it over by Potter's....right. Clean up, now. If I find a mess..."

Ron and Hermione glared harder at Snape while packing their extra ingredients. The still stuttering Neville threw his things into his bag and sprinted out of the room, refusing to be in the same room as the Professor.

As soon as Ron and Hermione were an earshot from the dungeons, Ron exploded.

"Where does he get off?! I can't believe that bloody tosser...got no right..._no right_..." He looked down at the melancholy Hermione, and sighed. "You okay? I can kill him, if you want. Azkaban would be worth it."

"Ron," Hermione said quietly, "Calm down. I'm used to it, trust me. I mean, he's just like Malfoy." She sighed sadly. "I must say though, he _is_ a teacher..."

Ron's ears were still red with anger. "I'm just glad it was the end of the class. I may have used my wand...and..._and_—"

"Ron! Please, calm down!" She turned a corner, Ron immediately followed her. "I mean, I know it was rude. Think about how _I_ feel—"

"I _am_." He opened the door and held it until Hermione had passed through. "I'm going to tell Hagrid. He'll tell Dumbledore. Then maybe Snape will be _fired_." He grinned. "Then I won't have to buy you a Christmas present."

She couldn't help but smile at him. 

^*^*^

Harry walked along side Dobby, while strange thoughts floated in his head on why Dumbledore could possibly want to see him personally. He began to wonder if something had happened to his Godfather, Sirius Black, but he was sure that Dumbledore would have wanted to see Ron and Hermione as well.

"Dobby," Harry said, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Do you know why Dumbledore wants to see me?"

"Dobby doesn't know," Dobby said, as he approached the gargoyle which was the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Pixie Sticks!" he said, causing the gargoyle to become animated, and move away to allow them to enter.

It was as if they floated the spiral staircase, which moved like a Muggle escalator. The familiar sense of dizziness fell upon Harry, until they got to the top where there was a large door, decorated with a griffin. Dobby opened the door, showing Dumbledore's office.

"_SIRIUS!_" cried Harry, flinging his arms around his Godfather, and his worries of his safety floating away. "When Dobby told me that Professor wanted to see me, I thought that something _horrible_ had happened to you, and I began to panic..." his voice drifted off. He looked at Sirius' face, which wasn't telling him that this was a nice little visit. Harry's stomach started to ache. "Something horrible has happened, hasn't it?" he asked.

Sirius could only nod.

Harry's widened. "Is it Hagrid? Is something wrong with Hagrid? I noticed how he wasn't here, and I began to wonder..." he turned to see a sullen Headmaster, and his thoughts on Hagrid seemed to be confirmed. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "Hagrid is fine."

Harry sighed happily. "_Good_."

Dumbledore nodded, and gulped, looking at Sirius for support. "Harry, something has happened...something quite serious." He pointed to a chair, and said, "Please, sit down."

Harry sat, very cautiously. "Profess—Siri—Wha..." His voice couldn't even form a full word.

"The Dursleys, Harry," Dumbledore forced from his mouth, "are dead."

Harry stared. And suddenly, he began to laugh.

Sirius jumped at the strange reaction. "Harry, did you hear Dumbledore correctly? Your family is dead."

"No, no, see, you said it'd be bad news, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked at Harry with alarm. "It is, Harry. It's horrible news."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster...but...I mean, don't get me wrong, I do feel horrible. I mean, they did raise me and everything, but," he thought for a minute, searching for the proper words, but ending up with, "but I hate them."

"Harry," Sirius said, completely shocked. "I don't think you realize what this means. You have no place to live. You're totally unprotected. And Volde—" he lost his voice. Sirius coughed, and continued. "Harry, you are not longer safe when you leave Hogwarts."

"Then I won't leave Hogwarts, Sirius."

"But you can't stay here, Harry," Dumbledore stated. "It would be highly irregular, and..." he met Harry's pleading eyes. 

"_Please_, Headmaster," he said, almost at a whisper. "It's what I've wished for since I set foot in here on my first day."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Don't you understand how severe this is, Harry? Don't you realize how important the Dursley's were to you?"

Harry just stared at him.

Dumbledore just sighed. "We will discuss your – er – place of residence during the summer later. I want you to think about the Dursleys, think about what they have done for you." He sighed sadly, and then said, quietly, "Do not go to your next class; I shall notify your Professor. You are to go to your dormitory and think Harry. I want you to think long and hard."

^*^*^

Ron and Hermione walked around the corner, Hagrid's house, which was more like a little hut, with stone sides, and a thatched roof, now in sight. Ron told Hermione again how he would tell Hagrid about how horrible Snape was, when he suddenly stopped walking.

"Herm, look," he said, pointing at where a few other students were gathering. "Where's Hagrid?"

"Hmm?" She looked where he was pointing. "I'm sure Hagrid's just got some strange animal their all goggling at," she told him, and continued walking. When Ron didn't follow, she grabbed his robe and pulled him along.

"Quiet now, quiet," an elderly voice crackled, causing the students to back away from the fence. "Don't touch them, now, you hear?"

An old woman appeared, her gray hair cropped around her wrinkled head, and a noticeable, prominent chin. Her cloak was well below her ankles; it was as if she had shrunken and refused to buy new robes. Blue eyes danced, seeming to tell people that despite her old age, she was still up for a good fight with a Chinese Fireball dragon any day. 

"All right now, children, stay behind the fence, that's right," she said, keeping all the students away from whatever was inside the enclosure. 

"I recognize her," Ron said. "But where from?" He thought for a moment, then said suddenly, "Excuse me, have you taught here before?"

The old woman looked up at Ron, and nodded. "Yes, young man, I have. You obviously remember my unicorn lesson last year, correct?"

Ron nodded, pleased with himself. Hermione looked at him, stunned.

"What?" he asked, confused by her look.

She smiled. "Oh, I just can't believe you remembered something from a lesson, for a change."

"Funny," he said flatly. "Actually," his voice dropped down to a whisper. "The only reason I remember her, was because she was here only because of that article Rita Skeeter wrote about Hagrid." His face squished up, and he said, angrily, "I swear, if I ever come across _her_ again..."

Hermione just nodded, oblivious to what he was saying, because the elderly woman began to speak.

"For those of you who have forgotten, unlike that young man," she nodded towards Ron, "my name is Professor Grubbly-Plank, and I'll be taking over while your regular teacher, Hagrid, is away on private duties." She looked at the confused faces. "And please, I don't know where he is, so don't bother asking." She moved herself so she was positioned at the gates entrance. "In the box, just behind me," she pointed to a box inside the fence, "are Puffskeins. Can anyone tell me a bit about the Puffskein?"

Hermione's hand shot up in the air, and to her shock (and the rest of the class), so did Ron's.

Professor Grubbly-Plank smiled at Ron. "Yes, Mr...."

"Ron Weasley," he said, causing Professor Grubbly-Plank to smirk.

"Ah, another Weasley. I just had your brothers. Quite a pair, aren't they?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Try living with them."

Grubbly-Plank laughed lightly, and said, "Well? Continue, Mr. Weasley."

"The Puffskein," Ron began, "is a round, furry creature which is not the least bit dangerous. It will eat whatever it wants, but prefers to eat a sleeping wizards...erm..._bogies_."

The class cringed, a few exclaiming "EW!" and "GROSS!" but Grubbly-Plank just smiled. 

"Well done, Mr. Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor. That was exactly correct. _Especially_ when it comes to eating human 'bogies', as you say. But here we will use the proper terminology, 'mucus'. 

"The Puffskeins are found worldwide, and their fur, which you will see in a moment, is soft, and custard colored. You can cuddle these creatures all you want—the more you do, the more they will learn to love you. Their tongue is very long, thin, and pink, and will emerge from their mouths once in a while in search of foods. As Mr. Weasley said, they will eat just about anything...anything from berries and plants, to..." she smirked again, "rotting human remains."

More disgusted noise exploded from the students.

"All right now, let's go inside, and be careful: they could get nervous with all of you around." Grubbly-Plank opened the gates, and the students filed in, calmly.

"Each of you pick out a Puffskein and start to cuddle it...well done, young lady...very nice, Mr. Weasley...._excellent_, young man...oh, you're all doing wonderfully!" she exclaimed. 

Ron turned to Hermione.. "Well, at least this year I won't have to worry about getting my arm bitten off," he said, as the Puffskein buried his head in Ron's chest, and began to fall asleep.


	6. Hagrid's Hut

**__**

Chapter Six – Hagrid's Hut

"Oy! Harry, over here!" Ron called at the lunch table, as Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall to eat.

Harry had done what Dumbledore asked. He skipped his Care of Magical Creatures class (despite wanting to see Hagrid desperately), and had gone to his dormitory instead. But he couldn't keep his mind on what Dumbledore wanted him to think about. How were the Dursleys so important to Harry? He did have a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach; who wouldn't, when you find out that three people who you've lived with for so long were dead? Yet Harry couldn't understand why he was supposed to just fall over and cry his eyes out, for the family who had tortured him for fifteen long years.

The only thing that came to mind that made him feel like vomiting, only for a minute, was the fact that the closest thing he had to his mother was gone. Lily's sister was dead, just like her. Harry was sure that Lily would be devastated. But when he thought about how Aunt Petunia had treated him all these years, he couldn't help but fell slightly relieved he would never have to face another day in their household again. 

"Hey, Ron, Hermione," said Harry as he sat next to Ron at the table. Hermione stared at him from across the table. Harry recognized the face; she was analyzing him. 

"Okay, Harry. What happened? Your pale," stated Hermione as she bit into her large sandwich.

"Nothing, Hermione," he lied. "Nothing important, at least."

"Aw," Ron said, his mouth full of tuna, which sprayed all over Harry, "c'mon, 'Arry, wha' 'Umble'ore hafta say?"

Harry sighed. "Well, Snuffles was there."

Hermione grinned. "Really? How is he?"

"Fine." But Harry rethought that answer. Truth was, Sirius seemed very disturbed and upset by the Dursleys deaths. "Actually, he was really upset."

"Why?"

"The Dursleys are dead," Harry said, with no emotion in his voice.

Hermione and Ron both gasped.

"_WHAT_?!" cried Hermione, dropping her sandwich. "You're _kidding_!"

Harry stared at Hermione. "What's the big deal? I mean, so what? They're the _Dursleys_."

Tuna was spilling out of Ron's open mouth. "Harry...." Ron was unable to finish. 

"**_WHAT IS SO HORRIBLE ABOUT THEM BEING DEAD?!_**" yelled Harry, causing a few other Gryffindors to eye him.

"Well for one thing," Hermione said, "did Dumbledore tell you how they died?"

Harry stared at her. He realized that Dumbledore _hadn't_ told him how they died. "Er—no."

"I doubt it was a _car crash_ that killed them," said Ron. "I mean, _Harry_, I'd think that _you _could figure it out..."

Harry gaped at Ron, not knowing what to say. He couldn't figure out what Ron and Hermione were so shocked about. Then, like a bolt of lightening, he realized they must have been killed by—

"_Voldemort?!_" he whispered. Ron winced at the name. "But...what could he want with them? They're just Muggles."

"Muggles who are the only family to Harry Potter, a.k.a., You-Know-Who's worst enemy!" said Ron. 

"And, Harry," said Hermione, "he obviously wanted something from them. Did the Dursleys have anything in their possession that Voldemort would want? Anything that'd he'd kill for?"

"Besides me?" Harry said. "No. Nothing. I mean, they're Muggles. And not just Muggles, but Muggles who _hate_, and I mean HATE wizards. They'd never have anything that'd be of use to Voldemort."

"Say He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, will you_ please?!_" Ron said hastily. Then added, "Well Harry, he must have wanted _something_. Otherwise, there was no point. It wasn't as if he went to the house looking for you. He'd know you're here, at Hogwarts. And under Dumbledore's care. He wouldn't forget that."

Harry stared at his lunch, no longer the least bit hungry. He had to know why the Dursleys were killed. And if they really were killed by Voldemort.

"But what if they weren't killed by Voldemort?" he questioned.

Ron turned back to his tuna. "Then that was one _hell_ of a car crash."

Harry just sat there at the table, flabbergasted. The Dursleys, killed by Voldemort. It had never occurred to him. Never once had he worried about how Voldemort's rebirth could effect them. He had always assumed them to be safe.

He needed to get off the topic.

"How's Hagrid?" he asked, still not touching his food.

Hermione looked up at Ron, and said, "Well...I don't know."

"What?" asked Harry. "Didn't you go to class?"

"Of course!" she said. "But Hagrid wasn't there. Grubbly-Plank was there. Remember her? She did the unicorn lesson last year, when Rita's column about Hagrid came out."

Harry nodded, remembering all too well the article, and the panic when he didn't see Hagrid teaching that day. "Where's Hagrid, then?"

Ron shook his head. "We don't know. She told us not to ask any questions, she claimed she didn't know any more than we do."

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "Could he be out with Madame Maxime?"

Hermione looked up, a strange smile on her face. "Why _Harry!_" she said, then began to giggle insanely.

Ron raised one eyebrow at her, giving her a very confused look at her, and turned back to Harry. Harry gave him a confused look as well, and Ron just rolled his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and mouthed "girls". Harry laughed and nodded.

Hermione composed herself, and then said, "Why would you think that, Harry?"

"Well, remember last year? He said that Dumbledore had a special task for him...but he wasn't allowed to tell us. He also said that Madame Maxime ("Olympe, you mean," said Ron) may go with him. Said he thought he had persuaded her."

Hermione stared at him thoughtfully, then said, "Oh! Yes! Now I remember." She pouted. "But...where could they have gone?"

"Remember how Dumbledore had said we need to get the giants on our side?" said Ron. "Well, who better to go talk to them than Hagrid and," he clasped his hands together, brought them up next to his ear, and said in a high pitched voice, _"Olympe?"_

Harry rolled his eyes. "Mature, Ron. But what you said...it makes sense. They must have gone out to those caves that the giants now live in." He smiled. "That must be where they are."

Hermione pouted even more. "Fine. But I'd still like to know if he's okay or not." She took a bite of sandwich, swallowed, and said, "I mean, don't you think he'd send us an owl or something? At the least, and owl?" She looked at Harry and said, "Did he send you anything for your birthday?"

Harry shook his head. "I just assumed he was busy with Dumbledore. I didn't really pay attention to it," he said. 

Hermione sighed, obviously unsatisfied. 

"Mmm," said Ron, his mouth once again spiting tuna everywhere. "Wattif we go to 'is 'ouse?" He swallowed. "See if he left any clues."

"But Ron! We'd be breaking in! We couldn't possibly..."

"If we get caught," Harry said, "we'll just say we were looking for him. I mean, it wouldn't be that far from the truth."

Hermione gave an uncomfortable look, but nodded. "Okay. But if Snape catches us...."

"_Speaking_ of which," Ron said, his face suddenly going red. "Harry, you'll never guess what Snape said to Hermione." 

Ron replayed what happened in potions.

"_WHAT?!_" shouted Harry. "_Snape SAID WHAT?!_"

"I know. A teacher. A bloody teacher!" Ron said, biting into his bread hard and ripping it angrily. "Can you believe the git?"

Harry didn't say another word until lunch was over.

^*^*^

"—Ow, Ron, you stepped on my toe—"

"—Ouch! Harry, be careful—"

"—Geez Hermione, how big are your feet—"

The three friends hid under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which used to be owned by his deceased father, James. James had left it in Dumbledore's possession, and in Harry's first year, Dumbledore had given it to him as a Christmas present.

As they made their way down the stairs, Harry cursed under his breath, and said, "I wish I had the Mauderer's Map right now."

"Where is it?" asked Ron.

"I had given it to Moody, remember?" Harry sighed unhappily. "It's probably back in Filch's cabinet....not being put to good use...."

Ron groaned at the thought. "Fred and George would _freak out_...Don't let them know, Harry. They'd kill you. Probably rip your limbs off and—"

Hermione coughed.

"You're not coming down with a cold, are you?" asked Ron.

"No, it's allergies," Hermione said. "Why do you care?"

"Don't want to catch it."

They made their way outside, where it was dark enough for them to take off the Invisibility Cloak. The air was only slightly chilled, as it was the end of September. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to Hagrid's hut, not caring if they made noise while they walked.

Harry stepped up to one of the windows, which was covered with a thick, black curtain. He shook his head to Ron and Hermione, telling them he couldn't see inside. They hurried over to the front door, and Ron cursed when they found it locked. 

"Honestly!" Hermione said. "Have you learned nothing as wizards?" She pulled out her wand, and whispered, "_Alohomora!_" which caused the door to unlock, allowing them entry.

She smiled smugly at the pouting Ron.

The hut looked the same, except there was nothing cooking, no treacle fudge sitting somewhere in a pan. There were no dirty clothes on the bed, and the absence of the kind old boarhound, Fang, was unnerving. 

"It's so _strange_," whispered Ron. He picked up a book lying on the table, looked at it, then put it back down. 

Hermione sulked. "Harry, there's nothing here. Nothing to tell where Hagrid could be, or if he's okay."

"Wait," Ron said suddenly, looking at a pan near the back door. "Look. It's feces. Probably Fang's."

Harry and Hermione hurried over. They grabbed their nose when the got close enough—the stench was horrible. 

"Well, obviously Fang left recently," Hermione said, her voice sounding congested since she was holding her nose. "It's still fresh."

"Unless it's not Fang's," Harry said.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Harry, there is no way a man Hagrid's size could make something _that_ _small_..."

"_NO_," Harry said. "It could be his." 

Harry pointed to an owl which was perched on the beam across the ceiling. The owl, a magnificent Great Horned owl, swooped down and landed on Harry's shoulder. He nipped at Harry's ear, in an affectionate way. Harry smiled; he was used to owls because he had one himself—a Snowy owl named Hedwig.

"Oh," Hermione gasped, "he's _beautiful!_" She stroked the owl gently a few times, then waited for his approval of her. The owl hooted softly, and flew to her shoulder. He nipped her ear, tenderly enough so that it didn't hurt her.

"Is it Hagrid's?" asked Ron, looking at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea. I've never seen that owl before." Harry paced around the hut again, looking at everything he could, trying to find some evidence that Hagrid had been there, and was okay.

Hermione, with the owl still on her shoulder, said, "Harry, let's go back to our room. We'll take the owl with us…see if Dumbledore knows him. I'm sure Dumbledore will be willing to tell us where Hagrid is."

"Okay," Harry said, disappointed. "At least we found the owl."

"Is there a name tag anywhere?" asked Ron.

Hermione looked at the owl. "What's your name?"

The owl hooted happily, and flew to the table near the fireplace. On the table was a gook, lying open. It was a recipe book, which was already opened to the recipe for—

"Treacle fudge," Hermione said, with a slight hint amusement. "Your name is Treacle?"

The owl hooted.

"Alright then, Treacle," Harry said, "is your owner named Hagrid?"

Treacle hooted.

Harry smiled. "Okay…good. You're new to Hagrid, aren't you?"

He hooted.

"Do you know if he's okay?"

Treacle remained silent.

"Does that mean you don't know?"

Treacle hooted.

Hermione groaned. "Well, we haven't gotten anywhere, have we?"

Ron frowned also. "Let's just take him back to the common room. We can take care of him. Maybe even use him to send a letter to Hagrid…might as well ask the man himself if he's okay. Treacle could find him…or, if it's okay with harry, we could use Hedwig." Ron smiled slightly. "I doubt Pig even knows who Hagrid is. He'd be clueless sending him a letter."

Harry nodded. "Well take care of Treacle." He turned back to the bird. "Would you like that?"

Treacle just hooted.


	7. Malfoy

**__**

Chapter Seven – Malfoy

Draco—

I'm sure you haven't forgotten your duties. How is the chubby boy coming along? Remember, you must get him on our side. If you don't, you know the consequences. The Dark Lord and I are counting on you. And if you fail…

Write back soon, Draco. Let me know how everything is going. 

Your Father,

Lucius M. Malfoy

Draco stared at the letter. He couldn't decide whether to put it in his desk, or burn it. He hated, or rather, despised his father. The Dark Lord on the other hand…he knew the Dark Lord would kill him if he didn't do what his father asked. 

He picked up the other letter that had come just a few minutes after he received the one from his father. He opened it to find it was from his mother, Narcissa. 

__

My son,

You know what your father wants, and you know how I feel. I won't pressure you to choose between me and your father, but please, think before you decide. If you're caught doing his dirty work, you could be put in Azkaban. They won't care you're only fifteen: remember Crabbe's brother?

Please, my boy, do what you think is right. I know I can't stop whatever you do, but I beg you: think first. I'll be your only way to survive.

With all my love,

Your Mum

Draco smiled. His mother cared deeply for him. He was still surprised she hadn't disowned Lucius—he always heard her cursing him, wishing him death. It wasn't that his mother was a spiteful person. But Lucius had lied to her from the beginning.

Lucius met Narcissa in school. He was afraid to like her. Here he was, a pureblood Slytherin wanting to go out with a Ravenclaw. It was unheard of. He was terrified of what his father and mother would say. They would be so disappointed with him. 

It didn't stop him from talking with her. They would exchanged Quidditch ideas: both were Chasers. She was able to look beyond the fact that he was a Slytherin who treated others poorly. It took a while of course. To just forget everything an individual has done in the past just to please oneself was hard. (Just try to forget everything Draco has done to Harry Potter and his friends, just to please yourself.) There was always a little voice inside her head that would say, _"Don't do this, Narcissa. You know it's just a game."_

It took two years until that voice was completely shut out of her mind.

Lucius, on the other hand, was able to continue adoring the Ravenclaw because of the fact he was protected by one simple man who had a brilliant idea.

The man's name was Tom Riddle…but now he called himself Lord Voldemort. He decided he had enough of the Mudbloods and Muggles in the world. Purebloods were better then anyone else—Lucius and Tom had the same ways of seeing things.

As long as Lucius' father, Gregory, left him and Narcissa alone, he was safe. But Gregory didn't listen to Tom and Lucius' threats. He refused to allow Narcissa in his home at Christmas time. So Gregory was disposed of.

Lucius didn't tell Narcissa what he and Tom had done to Gregory. When word came that Gregory was dead, Lucius covered it up by saying that he was "old, overweight, and obviously had a horrible heart-attack". Everyone, especially Narcissa believed him, and nothing more was said.

But eventually, Narcissa found out what happened. One night, during their early marriage, she woke up to the sound of arguing from downstairs. She first assumed it was between the cook and butler, who didn't care for each other, until she noticed Lucius was out of bed.

Narcissa hurried downstairs to find him, and found him with the horrible man who had been killing innocent people: Voldemort.

She didn't know what to do, so to save her own life, she returned to bed and didn't fall back to sleep. The next morning, she confronted Lucius, who told her that if she were to mention it again, she would regret it.

For years she stayed quiet. She raised her son, Draco, who received rare "visits" from his father—despite living in the same mansion as him.

When Draco turned eleven, a notification announced he had been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Lucius took this as a sign of maturity, and introduced his only son to his master, Lord Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort was amused by Draco—he was a young boy, who he knew would become useful in later years. It didn't take long to turn Draco from a fun loving, sweet happy boy to a boy of the Dark Arts. Only a matter of weeks. It was especially easy because Draco wanted to be accepted by his father so desperately. 

Narcissa pleaded to Lucius to leave Draco alone. He was too young to be a boy of the Dark Side. He was too innocent. 

By the time Narcissa threatened to Lucius that she would leave him and take Draco if he didn't stop mutilating her son, it was too late: Draco had become like a son to Voldemort himself. He had even been given orders. 

Get Harry on their side.

Draco agreed. As soon as he recognized Potter at Diagon Alley, getting cloaks, he decided to be friendly. He asked Harry questions about Quidditch. Trying to be nice. Harry Potter didn't seem to mind, though he seemed incredibly confused and lost by all of Draco's questions.

And when Draco saw Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express with Ronald Weasley, he panicked. He tried to warn Harry…tried to get him back to the Dark Side, but to no avail. He had failed.

Thankfully, he was smart. When the livid Voldemort threatened to do away with Draco, Draco thought of the brilliant idea. Get one of Harry's friends to the Dark Side.

Narcissa was furious. "Leave him alone!" she screamed at Lucius. "Stay away from Potter!" she told Draco.

And then Draco sat down and thought. He could listen to his father, go against the person who raised and loved him, stay alive, but do an awful thing. Or, he could listen to his mother, risk his life, but stay true to the one who taught him to read, write…to do spells, eat, and be responsible.

Draco stared at his father's letter.

He hung it over the large candle on his desk, and watched it burn.


	8. Tell Him

**__**

Chapter Eight – Tell Him

"Albus," Minerva said sternly. "It wasn't even a month ago you told me that we had to wait. Why the sudden change of heart?" She grinned. "Scared?"

Dumbledore glared at her. "Actually, Minerva, you're right. I'm petrified."

Severus coughed loudly. 

"Yes, Mister Snape?" Sirius spat, loathing the teacher. 

"Erm, Albus, I'm afraid I must have heard you wrong," Severus said. "I believe you said you were petrified. And, with you not only being our leader, but as the protector of Harry—"

"I'm afraid you heard correctly, Severus." Dumbledore's cheeks drooped down, and wrinkles appeared around his lips and no longer alive eyes. "Lord Voldemort has succeeded: I'm shaking in my boots."

The room, consisting of Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black, had no response. None of them could comprehend the fact that Albus Dumbledore was afraid of Lord Voldemort. Previously Tom Riddle. Previously a young man who lived in an orphanage. A young man who reminded people of young Harry Potter.

"It's because of the Dursley's death then, Albus?" asked Remus Lupin.

Dumbledore nodded, and looked sadly around the room. "James Potter had no idea Voldemort would defeat the Dursleys. How could he have known?" He sat down in his chair, his once glittering eyes seemed to be shut off forever. "Harry must know. He needs to defend himself. Defend the Potter name, family, and traditions."

"Well, the traditions will never be the same, know will they?" asked Snape.

Sirius jumped out of his chair and screamed, "Don't say that!" He looked down at the sneering Snape. "Harry may be the last Potter, but that doesn't mean the Potter family is gone. He'll survive. I know he will!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Severus suddenly jumped out of his chair, and stood eye to eye with Sirius. "Harry can't survive. If James and _Lily_ Potter—"

"They were both great," Remus interrupted the two bickering enemies, "but you must remember: A positive plus a positive always equals a _higher_ positive."

Minerva McGonagall nodded. "Remus is right. You put Lily and James together, and you get greater, higher power, whose name is Harry Potter."

"But," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair slowly, "you all must remember that Harry is a child. He does have the possibilities of being the greatest wizard of all time. He will, should he learn properly, exceed me. He has the skill…he just has to learn to control it." Dumbledore looked at them sternly. "If he doesn't learn to control it, we shall have another Tom Riddle on our hands."

Each of the adults nodded in agreement. 

Seconds, then minutes passed in silence. Sirius and Severus continued staring at each other, Remus watching both of them. And Minerva watched Albus Dumbledore. She was startled by his reactions to the Dursley's deaths. He had aged hundreds of years in a few days. She worried endlessly about him.

Finally, Remus said, "Should I go retrieve Harry, then?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "We will tell him." He looked at Minerva nervously, but said, "We will tell him everything."

^*^*^

Harry Potter walked into Dumbledore's office, shaking with nerves. Again…he was called to the office. Remus Lupin had come to get him this time.

"Ah…Harry," Dumbledore welcomed him. "Please, please sit."

Harry sat next to Sirius. He stared at Dumbledore, surprised by what he saw. Considering he sat rather far from the head table in the Great Hall, he hadn't seen Dumbledore in detail for a while, and the change that had overcome the old man was frightening.

"Headmaster, what is this about?" he asked, looking at the other adults at the same time.

Dumbledore uneasily moved around in his throne-like chair, and looked at the teachers, and Sirius, in the room. Finally, after a few tense moments, he said, "Harry, do you know how the Dursleys were killed?"

Harry stared at him. "Well, I think I know. After some help from Ron and Hermione…I think.…" he didn't know what to say, but he knew he had said enough, when Dumbledore continued.

"Yes, Harry. Voldemort killed your remaining family." Dumbledore looked at Harry's deep green eyes, and then asked, "Do you have any idea why?"

"No," Harry said. "Other than the fact that he wants to dispose of me, and everyone who has anything to do with me."

Dumbledore continued to look at Harry, emotionless. "Yes...and no. It's true Voldemort wishes to break you down...kill everyone you love. But, you don't really _love_ the Dursleys, now do you?" With a nod from Harry, Dumbledore persisted with his explanation. "But the Dursleys were your protector for a reason, Harry. They knew, since you were born, that if anything were to happen to your parents, that they would, and _must_ take you in. It's the only reason they didn't put you in an orphanage."

"Albus," interrupted McGonagall. "I think you need to start from the beginning."

Albus Dumbledore nodded. "Yes." He turned back from Minerva, to Harry. "Harry, have you ever heard the story, 'King Midas and the Golden Hand'?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"Ah, good," he said, smiling as much as his tired face would allow. "But I'm guessing that you have no idea that the story is true."

Harry shook his head. "It's a Muggle myth, sir. A fairy tale."

"As was the story of the Philosopher's Stone. Muggles know the story; they knew that Nicholas Flammel is a real person, looking for the answer to eternal life. But, luckily, they never found out that he actually found the answer. He had decided to tell a few trustworthy friends. A wise decision that lasted over six hundred years, until Voldemort learned of the elixir and decided he wanted it for himself.

"Midas wasn't as smart has Nicholas, though. He was vain, and when he got his hand, he bragged about it. Word gout out about this amazing hand, and he was talked about so often, that even Muggles heard the story. Of course, that's exactly what they thought it was. A story, and they treated it like a fairy tale: just like you said.

"Truth be told, it wasn't a fairy tale. In fact, there was no to the hand tan just turning things into gold. It holds so much more power, Harry. Powers that any man would _die_ for."

"What...what kind of powers?" Harry asked.

"The Hand had the power of Sight, Harry. A Sight that, when used properly can be very useful. If not, it's deadly. The Sight of Magic."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'Sight of Magic'?"

"Let's say I had Sight. If I were to look at Professor McGonagall here, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I would see a light purple, almost white glow surrounding her. If I were to look at someone like, let's say, Neville Longbottom, I'd see a bright yellow glow. Each color shows the strength of power the person has."

Frustrated, Harry shook his head. "I don't understand sir."

Dumbledore took out his wand and, suddenly, the tip of the wand was on fire.

"Harry, look at the fire. Do you see the different colors? Do you see the yellows, blues, and the purples and white?"

Harry nodded.

"White is the strongest, hottest part of a flame. It's the bottom of the flame; it keeps the flame glowing. The next colors you see, is purple and blue. They are the next hottest colors...yellow is the weakest. If you had Sight, and saw a orange or yellow glow, you'd know that person was easy to control, to manipulate."

"So," Harry said slowly, processing the information, "if Voldemort had Sight, and he were to look at you, he'd see a pure white glow?"

"Oh no boy," the modest Dumbledore said, flushing slightly. "I doubt I'd be pure white. That would mean I was the best wizard in the world."

Harry smiled and nodded. "I know."

Dumbledore smiled back, and continued, trying to ignore the kind comments. "As you can understand, this Sight would be of much use to Voldemort. He'd know who he could control; and who could destroy him. I dare say, if he had Sight when he turned upon you fifteen years ago, he would have thought twice about attacking you."

Harry nodded. He couldn't help but think of how useful Sight would be. And how fun. He could see how strong Snape, Filch, or even his worst enemy Malfoy was with magic.

After a few minutes, he said, "What other powers are there, Professor?"

"You know what an Amagus is, correct Harry?"

Harry nodded, thinking of his father, who had been an illegal stag Amagus.

"The hand would give someone not only the power of being an Amagus, but the power to change into any animal at will, and able to communicate with any animal; even in human form. Think how helpful it would be to Voldemort. To at first be a cockroach who sneaks into someone's home, then POW, he's himself, all ready to kill. The perfect sneak attack."

Harry shuttered. "I can't even imagine."

"It doesn't end there, though."

Young Harry looked startled. "There's more? What other powers could Voldemort possibly need?"

Dumbledore frowned deeply. "Of course, there is being able to turn anything into gold. But there is another. One power that would make his life complete. One that would, in fact, ensure he were to never die."

"Philosopher's Stone," Harry said. "But that's been destroyed."

"Not quite, my boy. Something much more handy. You're close, though. Think...what did the Spanish search for in America...in Florida."

Harry thought hard. He remembered few things from his short time at Muggle school, let alone his one month of learning brief American history. But he did remember something...

He gasped. "That's impossible."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's not, Harry. The Fountain of Youth. Able to keep the drinker alive forever...and not only alive, but alive at a young age. Imagine, to stay thirty, or twelve, or even four forever! You'd never die. You'd always be young. Always be capable of being at your strongest. Voldemort just has to drink, think of the age when he was strongest, and he would be that age forever. With just _one drink_."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Impossible." He shifted uneasily, then, he spontaneously yelled; "But it's a _legend_!" He was now halfway out of his chair. "It's impossible! Ridiculous! The Fountain of Youth was all a lie! A sham! There's no such thing! _Impossible!_"

"Impossible, Harry?" Dumbledore smiled at him. "Before you came to Hogwarts, or even knew about wizardry, didn't you think magic was impossible? Didn't you think that being able to turn into a cat," he looked at Minerva, "was impossible? Didn't you think that having a psychopathic megalomaniac on your arse was impossible?"

Harry suddenly smiled, and nodded apprehensively. "You're saying, anything is possible?"

"Anything," Dumbledore said.

Everyone in the room sat quietly. Remus was fidgeting with his robes, Sirius looking at Harry. Snape scowling in a corner, Minerva looked at Albus.

And thoughts were swarming in Harry's head a mile a minute. All he could think about, was what would happen if Voldemort were to get the Hand. What then? Harry couldn't go against him. Harry couldn't fight him. And the biggest question, was what all of this had to do with the Dursleys. 

Finally, Harry piped up, "Excuse me sir, but...but what does this have to do with my family?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Because, Harry. It's the Potter family who owns the Hand of Midas."

__

A/N: Ohh…told you it would get better. **Please** let me know what you think! I'm working so hard, and I need to know if I should bother…


	9. Longbottom and Lucius

**__**

Chapter Nine – Longbottom and Lucius

Neville Longbottom was shaking from head to toe. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. And the more he thought about, the more he realized that it was probably a mixture of both. 

How _dare_ someone say that to Hermione! Let alone a teacher. Neville liked Hermione. He always thought she was kind, and much sweeter than anyone else in the school. She was the one who helped him with Charms, Potions,…and just about every subject he took.

Angrily, Neville carelessly dropped his cauldron next to Lavender's, and hustled backed to his seat. He hastily gathered his books and bag together, and rapidly ran from the room.

He looked at his schedule, and saw "Care of Magical Creatures" was next. He groaned. He was awful with the animals that Hagrid supplied them with—they were always somehow dangerous. And Neville wasn't good when it came to danger.

He walked down the halls, and to his utter dismay, Draco Malfoy walked up behind him. He stiffened just a bit, afraid of the platinum haired boy. As he heard Malfoy's steps quicken, he quickened his own, and was almost at a jogging pace, when Malfoy came up to Neville's side.

"Hello, Neville," Malfoy said, without a hit of displeasure.

Slightly surprised, Neville Longbottom jumped. "Oh!" He wasn't sure what to do, but in order to keep the kindness at hand, he stuttered, "Oh…He-hello."

Malfoy smiled at Neville, to Neville's alarm, and he walked away.

Neville stared at Malfoy's back, stunned at what had just happened. He knew something was wrong: something was going on. _I may not be smart,_ Neville thought to himself, _but I know when something fishy is going on._

^*^*^

"Why isn't he here?" Lucius spat, while a unspeakable feeling filled the pit of his stomach. "If he doesn't show up—" he shuttered at the images that filled his head. 

"I hope," the other man said coldly, "for your sake, that your son _does_ show up."

Lucius looked that him nervously, and he began to fiddle with his robes. He knew he wouldn't live to see the next day if Draco didn't come to the meeting soon. And they way things were going, it didn't look good.

Voldemort, the other man in the room, grinned smugly. "I believe I'll be needing this." From his cloak, he pulled out his long, phoenix hair wand. 

The eyes on Lucius' face widened, and his hands began to shake. Salty sweat slowly dripped down his forehead, and his throat was deprived of the usual wet saliva.

As the seconds ticked by, Voldemort became angrier. "One minute, Lucius. You have _one minute_." Voldemort's scowl changed into a smug grin. "And trust me, you won't be the only one to die. You're son will have to pay the price too."

Lucius rolled his eyes. He really didn't care what happened to his son: it was more important what would happen to him. 

Voldemort looked at the clock on the wall. One minute had passed. He looked around and saw no sign of Draco anywhere.

"Well," he said, "it seems your son really _isn't_ faithful, is he Lucius."

Lucius panicked. "No, sir, give him a few more minutes! He'll be here, I promise—"

"_Avandra Kedavra!_"

Lucius' body fell to the cold ground.


	10. Back When

**__**

Chapter Ten – Back When

(**A/N:** This is a really important chapter! I don't know if Genevieve is really her name, but hey, whatever! Bear with me on this. This is taking place 14 years ago, the night of December 1.…enjoy!)

Frank and Genevieve held out their wine glasses, and a light ring sounded as they hit together. They sipped the dark red liquid, and Genevieve curled against Frank's torso. He smiled down at her, and kissed her forehead lightly. 

"I'm proud of you, Frank," she whispered, taking another sip of wine. "None of this would have happened without you. And I mean that in a good way."

Frank wrapped an arm around her. "Thank you, Jen." He sighed sadly. "I just can't believe the _Potters are dead…_"

"It's not your fault," Genevieve said sternly. "You couldn't have done anything without killing yourself in the process. And I couldn't have survived if that happened."

Kissing her lips firmly, Frank put down his glass of wine, and hugged her tighter. When he pulled away, Jen giggled, just like she did when she was in school. She shook her head, and pointed upstairs.

"He's crying. I'd better go get him…" she said, standing up, causing Frank to pout. "I'll be back down. Don't worry." She winked at him and hurried up the stairs.

Genevieve slowly opened a door, where a loud cry was being released from a chubby baby. She hurried over to his crib and picked him up. She rocked him gently. 

"Oh, Neville, what's wrong?" she cooed at the young baby.

"JEN!" Frank yelled from downstairs. "You'd better get down here!"

Neville finally stopped crying, and Jen took him downstairs with her. "What is it, hun?" she asked her husband.

Frank handed her a note. "It was on the floor…I'm guessing it was pushed under the door."

Genevieve took the note from Frank's hand, and read:

__

Frank,

You know what you have done. And you know we must correct it.

Watch your back.

Jen paled, and her eyes widened. 

"You knew this would happen, Jen. Don't act so surprised." Frank sighed. "I've been wondering when this would happen. What do you expect?"

"We must find who sent this, Frank."

Frank shook his head. "Ignore it. It's just a threat, don't worry." He held his hands out and took his son from his wife's arms. "Little Neville's not scared, are you, son?" The baby gurgled, and Frank smiled. "See? Neville's not afraid. We shouldn't be either."

"_What?!_" Jen shouted. "You receive a threat from a Death Eater, and you're not afraid? I'm terrified for you, Frank. I was frightened from the beginning, when you said you'd be an Auror. Catching Death Eaters…killing them! I knew from the beginning, Frank, that this would happen. But now that it has…" her voice quieted. "I'm afraid not only for you, but our boy."

Frank squeezed Neville. "No one is hurting our boy, Jen. You can be sure of that."

Genevieve forced a smile at Frank, and nodded her head. "Okay." She looked up at the large, grandfather clock that was positioned in the entrance way, and jumped back into non-concerned-mother-mode. "It's past Neville's bed time!" she exclaimed, and held her hands out for her son.

Frank shook his head. "No, Jen, let me put him to bed." He smiled at his spouse, and walked his boy up the stairs. 

He closed the door to Neville's room, and sat down the rocking chair. He slowly rocked back and forth, and picked up the bottle next to the chair. He fed the bottle to his child, an hummed a lullaby. When Neville had finished drinking, and had rested his head on his father's chest, Frank smiled.

"You're the strongest in this family, you know that Neville?" Frank spoke softly. "You're the one who keeps this family rolling. You know, the other night, I was chasing down some Death Eaters…dangerous sons of bears…I was getting tired. You're old man isn't in the shape he used to be. I was so tired, so exhausted. But I knew…I knew that if I didn't catch them, that they'd just start killing more people. People like your mother—people like you. I couldn't let them go." He held the child closer, as it began to fall asleep.

Frank rocked Neville a bit longer. He felt his son grow heavier, and he knew the baby was asleep. 

"You know, Neville, I may not survive that threat. But if it saves you, then I'll face them. I'll face them, Neville. Just for you."

Frank placed his son into his crib, put Neville's favorite teddy bear next to him, and left the door. 

He found Genevieve asleep on the couch. 

__

Perfect, Frank thought, as he put on a robe and took out his wand. He placed a kiss on Jen's cheek, and walked out the door.

He was going to find the one's who dared to threaten his family.

^*^*^

Shawn nodded his head. "Frank, we'd love to help you." He smiled warmly to the man, and then became serious. "But…if you suspected that you were in trouble, why didn't you tell us? We could have done something earlier."

"I wasn't positive, though Jen says she always knew," Frank answered. "I just can't believe it's come to this," he whispered afterward.

"What will you do about Neville?" asked the woman in the room, Madelyn.

Frank looked at her, and defensively exclaimed, "What do you mean? They wouldn't be after Neville, would they? Why would they want Neville?"

"He's your son," Madelyn said. "A weakness."

"Yes," Frank nodded, agreeing. "Neville is my weakness." He looked up at Shawn, who's wife was expecting their first child. "Shawn, you have no idea what it's like. You'll cherish every minute of it."

Shawn smiled back. "I just hope I'm lucky enough to have a kid like Neville, Frank."

Frank nodded. "I hope when this is all over, I have still have a kid like Neville."


	11. Unanswered Questions

**__**

Chapter Eleven – Unanswered Questions

Harry Potter stared at Headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore smiled back, while the rest of the adults remained silent. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. _His family_ owned the Hand of Midas? The most powerful magical object in the universe?

"Harry, you understand why this is so crucial," said Dumbledore, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "This is why Voldemort had to kill James. This is why he wants you dead. It is because this Hand is so important, and _you_ hold the answer to finding it."

Harry cocked his head. "What do you mean, finding it? I thought I owned it."

"In a way, you do," said Dumbledore. "But…it is not in your possession. It's not in a Gringott's vault, or anything."

"Then…where is it?"

"When Midas died, the kingdom decided to rid the world of the Hand. They wished it to be banished forever. But one man, one _wizard_ man, said that it was important for someone to know where the Hand was. For someone to be able to, once in a while, make sure no one had taken it. Someone, that is, like Voldemort. The kingdom thought this was a brilliant idea.

"The wizard concocted what they called an Oracle. The Oracle knows every answer to every question you could possibly think of. The Oracle knows what will happen tomorrow, what happened yesterday, what the meaning of life is, where wizards and humans originated…_everything_. But the Oracle was primarily made to hold the answer to where the Hand of Midas was.

"The wizard creator was the one to keep the Oracle. He was most trustworthy in the kingdom, and they thought he'd be the perfect keeper of the secrets of life, the universe, and most importantly, the Hand.

"The wizard passed the Oracle down to his son, and he passed it down to his son, and et cetera. No woman may own the Oracle. This answers any question you may have, of why Voldemort didn't really want to kill your mother."

"But why not?" asked Harry.

"Back then, Harry, women weren't always trusted. You know of witch burnings—the kingdom thought it best for the Oracle to be handled by a man."

Minerva McGonagall huffed angrily. 

Dumbledore smiled at her. "You are quite trustworthy now, Professor," he said to her assuringly. 

"Well, thank you for that assessment, Professor."

Remus Lupin suddenly piped up. "Excuse me, Headmaster, but I have a class soon…I really must be going." He stood from his chair.

Snape stood up just after Lupin. "I as well," he told Dumbledore. "Would it be possible to finish this conversation tomorrow?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Let's let all this sink into Harry before moving on, shall we?"

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed. "Headmaster, who was the wizard? Who was the one who created the Oracle? And…and where is it? What does it have to do with the Dursleys?"

"Tomorrow, my boy, tomorrow!" Dumbledore smiled, standing from his chair. "All will be explained tomorrow. Now, why don't you go to your classes, alright then?"

Harry sighed, dissatisfied with the ending of the meeting. But he couldn't believe the information he had received. He barley noticed the hug Sirius gave him before leaving, or the fact that Remus was staring at him with worried eyes. He was too busy thinking to himself, _I finally know, I finally know_.

For some reason, Harry had the strange notion that he was the heir to Gryffindor. It made some sense to him, except for the fact that the Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin. _But it didn't,_ Harry had to keep telling himself, whenever he thought of how frightening those few moments under the hat were.

He wasn't sure what he would tell Hermione and Ron. He wasn't even sure if they were going to believe him. It was ridiculous sounding…the Hand of Midas! The family heirloom. Well—sort of.

Harry was dying to know more about the Oracle. What _exactly_ was it? He wanted to go to got the library, so he could find out at that very minute, when—

"Hello, Potter."

Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing behind him, holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

"What's that in your hand, Malfoy? Letter from your daddy telling you about the next Death Eater meeting?"

Draco smiled. "Actually, Potter, it's a letter from Voldemort." As Harry's eyes widened, Draco laughed to himself inside. "Oh, it's not what you think. It's a notification letting me know that my father is dead, all because I decided that being a Death Eater is pointless."

Harry jumped in surprise. "Oh!" He didn't know whether or not this was good news. "I'm…sorry?"

"Don't be. I've been waiting for this day for years." After seeing the confused look on Harry's face, Draco explained. "I never much cared for my father. He forced me to become a Death Eater. Never was into the killing-the-innocent. And this year, I just got sick of it. I'm tired of seeing my parents fight over me, tired of seeing my mum constantly crying. And I was so furious with my father this summer, that I decided that it was time for me to prove my loyalty. To your side."

Harry stood, dumbstruck. He was about to laugh, thinking it could easily be a lie. But something inside told him to not laugh. He could only simply say, "Oh."

The two enemies stood in the same spot a bit longer, uncomfortably, until Draco said, "I'd better go. I should notify my mother on Lucius' death."

"Oh—yes. Bye," Harry said, still feeling awkward with the situation.


	12. Ponderings

**__**

Chapter Twelve – Ponderings

(**A/N:** This is a little confusing. Just bear with it…some if it is important, some of it is just to make this chapter longer than three sentences. Hehe. Anyway, keep on truckin', and let me know what you think!)

****

He never knew how I would advance. And I guess it's a shock to myself as well. At first, I was just a young one, who slept when not in use. But now, since I have not been in use for years, I have learned to use my brain in more productive ways than just answering questions.

I now spend my days pondering. I know all the answers to all the questions, but sometimes, when I have not been asked questions in a long time, I forget what I know until I am awakened. So at this current moment, I am thinking about my past owners. 

The last owner I can remember was the one who put me in this dark room. He seemed kind, but I cannot comprehend why he would put me in such a horrible residence. He probably did not know that throughout the centuries I have obtained feelings. I am able to feel sad, or happy—even afraid. I am sure that if he had known I would feel deserted and unwanted, then he would have kept me in his home.

I remember he had a very pleasurable father. His father asked me many questions. He asked me about the future, and about the past. My answers would usually please him. But when he had asked about his son's forthcoming, he was quite disturbed.

But it was my first owner, the one who created me, whom I enjoyed most of all. He was much fun—always willing to talk to me. He never was very interested in the future or past. He only asked me a few questions, and even then I could tell they were not of much importance to him.

He married at a late age, but she was a wonderful woman. She did not use me much either, but was always willing to have a "womanly" talk. She trusted me. She was the only true friend I have ever had, in my whole thousand years of existence. 

Their first child was a daughter. He was in love with his girl, of course, but he wanted a boy. He **needed** a boy. If he did not conceive a son, then his family could not continue, and I would have had to been destroyed.

Three daughters later, he had a son. At the age of fifty-two, he had a son. And, at the age of one hundred and fifty, he passed on. Of course, his male offspring had obtained me before then. He took me at the age of thirty-three, when he married. He married a woman less wonderful than his mother. I did not have the same wonderful talks as I had before.

They had a son right away. He was a nasty child, who was spoiled rotten by his mother. This family I despised.

It would be years until a family came along just like the first. 

This man married a beautiful, young, vibrant girl. Flaming red hair…I will never forget that red hair. Her eyes sparkled. The two had a gorgeous young boy. Unfortunately, they never lived to see their son's second birthday. 

Isn't it funny? Not a name I can remember, but those eyes and hair will always be with me.

I wish I could remember their names. I have never been good at remembering names. I cannot even remember my own name. In fact, I do not even know if I have been given a proper name. All I know, is that I am the Oracle.


	13. Sugarless Fudge

**__**

Chapter 13 – Sugarless Fudge

Pacing the room, he cursed himself quietly. Why didn't he listen to Albus Dumbledore? Why'd he have to ignore all of the man's advise? He was going to get it. The people would throw him out of office for sure! He couldn't believe it had happened. _It had happened_...

He found his large, comfortable chair, and fell into it. The cushions contorted around his short, large body. Due to the wheels on the bottom of the chair, he rolled over to his desk and grabbed a cigar. Muggle made, but just as good.

The seconds ticked by on the large, oak clock on his wall, and his palms began to sweat as it became closer to five-o-clock. What were they going to say? He wasn't worried about what Lucius Malfoy would say...considering Lucius was dead. _At least I won't have to deal with him_, he thought to himself. _But Albus...oh, Albus...._ He shuttered as visions of the powerful old man's face flew through his mind.

Albus Dumbledore was scary when mad. And though the man had never _really_ seen Albus mad, he had heard stories. He could only imagine what the Headmaster of the old school would say to him. And worse, what he would do to him.

The clock struck five, and the man's face darkened. Within seconds, the room started filling up with various visitors. Some were quite young—to young to be dealing with situations as serious as this. They were to be out playing Quidditch. They didn't belong here. Others, like the man himself, were older, maybe in their mid-forties to late fifties. 

But he soon realized it didn't matter how _old_ they were. They were all here on the same purpose—to get him out.

As soon as Albus Dumbledore appeared in the room, all the voices (which were talking quietly about the quivering man in the chair) silenced, and they stared at the enraged man.

"How could you?!" shouted Dumbledore, his voice louder than anything any of the men had ever heard. "I warned you, Fudge, I _warned you!_"

Fudge stood from his chair, trying to find courage against the fuming man. "Professor, please, maybe some introductions would be appropriate first—"

"I do not need introductions, Mister Fudge." Dumbledore's voice had quieted to a surprisingly soft whisper. Despite the voice being quiet, it was still full of anger, and power. "All these men in here are my allies. That is all I need to know."

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, looked around at all the other men in the room. He stiffened as they all nodded at Dumbledore's statement. 

One of the older persons, a red-headed man, spoke up. "How could you let this happen?" he asked, almost as quietly as Dumbledore. Except, instead of anger and power, his voice was filled with disappointment, and sorrow.

"Mister Weasley, I assure you, I had no idea—"

"You lie!" screamed another man, who was much younger. "I heard the Headmaster warn you! He told you! _He told you!_"

Arthur Weasley placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Calm down, Bill."

Fudge's eyes darted around the room, much like a rodent's when it knows it is to be attacked by an owl, or worse, a hungry snake. He began to play uneasily with his robes, and he stuttered, "P-Please, men, ju-just listen to m-m-me..."

Albus shook his head. "You did not listen to me, Cornelius. You have not earned the right for us to listen to you."

"Please!" Fudge pleaded.

"I remember exactly what happened, Cornelius. In fact, for verification, I have brought my Pensive with me. There are some who heard it themselves," he nodded in Bill Weasley's direction. "But there are others, who know not of what you said."

Dumbledore reached into his robes, and pulled out a dish. He had put a covering on it, so the liquid inside would not drip out. He looked at the Pensive bowl for a moment, then the image began to appear...

__

"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeated. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors—"

"Preposterous!" shouted Fudge again. "Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join them the minute he asks them!" said Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"...

The image faded, and Fudge's body shook harder. The other men glared at him, eyes flashing wildly.

"It's true then?" asked one of the men. "Albus Dumbledore warns you of something _he_ should know about, and _you_ ignore it? All because you're afraid of losing your place in the Ministry?" The man laughed. "Well, Fudge, you're screwed."

"I see that," Fudge said plainly.

Everyone in the room scowled at the Minster of Magic, completely silent. Fudge looked around at all the raging faces, not knowing what to do. Should he Apperate away? No, that would get him into more trouble.

"I think what we need to do," Albus said, "is first get all our information about just how much Mister Fudge fucked up, then decided what to do about it."

A few of the men jumped at Dumbledore's choice of words, others just nodded, agreeing.

"Yes, yes, okay," Fudge agreed. "Erm...won't you all have a seat?" He conjured up chairs for everyone, and they all sat, each with their wands in their hands. Fudge gulped, hard, at the sight, but tried to remain calm.

Arthur Weasley spoke first. "Just how many have escaped?"

"All of them," Fudge said. "All the Death Eaters escaped, bringing the dementors with them." He looked at all the angered faces. "You have got to believe me!" he suddenly shouted, pleading with mercy. "If I had known, _if I had known..._"

Dumbledore ignored Fudge's cry, and looked at Arthur. "I am most worried about Harry, Arthur...as you can imagine." After Arthur nodded, Dumbledore turned to no one in particular. "But, I am also worried about young Neville Longbottom."

A few men cocked their heads, one asking what was on everyone's mind, "But sir, why?"

Albus jumped slightly in surprise. "Don't you all remember?" Only Arthur suddenly seemed to understand. 

"Neville's parents," he whispered breathlessly.

"Right. And I have reason to suspect that the three who are still alive, who were charged with subjecting them to the Cruciatus Curse, may want to finish their son off."

"_What?_" interrupted Fudge. "Ridiculous!"

"Excuse me, Minister," said Bill slyly, "but I do not believe you are in the position to contradict Professor Dumbledore."

Fudge gaped at the young red-headed man. This man, who was just beyond the age of boyhood, had power. He could see that.

Dumbledore nodded kindly at Bill, and once again looked at no one in specific. "So…the dementors are on Voldemort's side." The name of the Dark Lord sent tingles up some of the men's backs, while some looked around the room uncomfortably. Albus noticed it, and rolled his eyes. "Oh come now! You are all grown men! Surely you are not afraid of a _name!_"

The men in the room muttered lightly, some shaking their head, others nodded stupidly.

Albus sighed. "If we allow **Voldemort**," he empathized the name, "to scare us like this, then he has already won. He is a terrorist. If you become so afraid that you cannot speak his name, then you may as well join his side."

More murmurs filled the room, and Albus turned to Fudge. "How do you propose we should get these dementors killed?"

"We can't," Fudge said quietly. "Patronus charm is the only true thing that can harm a dementor. There's nothing else…nothing that I know of, at least…"

"YOU ARE A FOOL!" screamed Dumbledore, who stood so fast out of his chair that it fell over. "You are a crackpot fool! How could you put something so powerful into the hands of Voldemort? Something that _couldn't be destroyed?!_"

Fudge leaned back in his chair, sweat dripping down his cheeks and neck. "If I had known…"

"ARG!" screamed Dumbledore. He pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Fudge's nose "If you say that one more time…"

"Gentlemen!" Arthur Weasley interjected, causing both men to look at him. "Please…Albus…perhaps we should call it a day. I know I need to get home to my family…"

The old headmaster nodded. "Yes. Yes, alright. I'd better go check up on Harry. You are all dismissed."

The men all disappeared. Dumbledore was left alone with Cornelius Fudge. 

"I warned you, Fudge," Dumbledore said quietly. "I warned you. And you were too blinded by your ignorance you see that I was right. Thank _god_ I have sent Hagrid to get the giants. Thank _god_ you are not the protector of Harry. He would never have lasted as long as he has."

And with that, Dumbledore left, leaving a stunned Cornelius Fudge to himself.


	14. Freedom

**__**

Chapter Fourteen – Freedom

"Madelyn!" he called, causing her too look up from the ground.

"What?" she spat back, her voice hoarse from the lack of use. She tried to stand from the hard, rocky earth that she was sitting on, but her legs collapsed under her eighty-pound weight. Her eyes tried to focus on who was speaking to her.

"Can't you feel it, Maddie?" the man asked, his voice getting closer to her.

She shook her head, which just ended up exhausting her. "Feel what? What are you talking about?"

Out of nowhere, a man was standing above her—something that hadn't happened in thirteen years. Someone was _with_ her. Someone was now sitting next to her! Was she dreaming? Was she actually in contact with another person?

"Maddie, we're free."

She looked at the man next to her. She had known him even before she was imprisoned. They were good friends, but they hadn't spoken in years. Hadn't spoken since....

"Really?" she asked, her voice quiet and trembling.

He nodded vigorously. "Yes! The dementors....they have joined our side!"

She smiled. "Too bad old Barty Crouch isn't here to see this day!" she laughed, her strength slowly coming back to her. "Of course, he wasn't true, was he?"

The man shook his head. "Don't you remember him pleading his innocence to his father the day of our trial? No, Maddie, you are the truest of all."

"Yes..." she said, lifting her sleeve until the mark on her forearm showed. It was black. Pure black, and the sensation that it sent up Maddie's spine to see it was exhilarating. A sudden feeling of warmth and happiness filled every part of her body, something which was usually sucked away by the dementors. But since the dementors were now a specialty of _Voldemort_....

He smiled. "I always knew we'd come back. That's why we had to keep on going...we didn't give up! And our Master...he shall reward us, Maddie. He will reward us...." his voice fell to a whisper. "You think _he's_ still alive, Maddie?"

"Who? Frank? Of course he is. Wife too."

He stared at her. "Are you sure?"

"Frank and Genevieve...always strong, they were. I wouldn't be surprised if they're still alive. They could pull through anything."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even after what we did to them?"

Maddie laughed. "Of course. They would have survived. Son, too. Probably living with Frank's mother."

He nodded. "Yes...yes, it makes sense."

The two sat in the cell for a few more minutes. Maddie was trying to rally up some more strength, while he watched her. He hadn't seen her in so long....

Finally, Madelyn was able to stand. She looked down at the man, and said, "Well Shawn? Let's go!"

And the two of them, along with hundreds of others, left the Azkaban Prison.

^*^*^

"You have all returned to me, strong, and true. You will all be awarded, because you never gave up, like some others had. I intend to show each of you just how much your loyalty has meant to me."

All the thin, pale humans cheered. Some just whooped and hollered, others shouted, "LONG LIVE OUR LORD!" and eventually, they were all singing together: "_Our Lord Forever! You can't take him away!_" in one voice.

He enjoyed this. He wasn't a music love, so the singing wasn't the thing putting him in the good mood. His true followers were back! And more eager to kill then ever! And with the dementors on their side, creatures which couldn't be destroyed, he was sure to kill Potter! He was guaranteed the Hand of Midas! It was _perfect!_

"Yes...yes!" he shouted out, smiling at all the happy faces. He loved the fact that dementors blended in so well with all the others...their hooded cloaks looked exactly like the follower's cloaks. Someone like Dumbledore would think they were attacking a Death Eater...and it would end up being a dementor! It was _better than perfect!_

"Now...for those of you who do not know...we have lost a few of our followers. I shall read the names. Some were accidents, while some..." he looked at the shaking Wormtail and laughed. "While some were just necessary.

"BARTY CROUCH! He died last year. Soul sucked out by the Dementor's Kiss, and he killed himself a few days later. JOSEPH Winiarski! Died of heart disease, bless his soul. Very faithful, yes indeed....MARY MCELROY! Caught by an Auror and gave her life. Yes, her family has been rewarded. LUCIUS Malfoy! Well...I killed him. Nasty little leech he was."

The other Death Eaters in the room howled with laughter. The room became louder and louder, and soon, it was like a reunion party. Someone had summoned some Butterbeer, and real hard liquor. Others conjured biscuits, and cookies.

"Well Wormtail," Voldemort shouted over the loud noise. "I guess the capture of Azkaban has been a success?" He drank a shot of whiskey.

"I agree!" Wormtail spat, taking a shot of rum.

The Death Eater party lasted all night long.

^*^*^

The Gryffindors all sang in one voice: "_Happy birthday Fred and George! Happy birthday to you!_" and the two twins blew out the candles, which illuminated the large chocolate cake.

Cheers erupted, and Fred and George smiled at everyone, as they studied the cake. It said, in orange lettering, "Happy Birthday Gred and Feorge!". The twins looked at each other and smiled.

"How'd you manage to pull this off?" asked George, grinning at Harry.

Harry smiled back. "I got some help from Lee, and Ron, but most of it...well, the elves thought that they'd help out, considering you've always 'been so nice and kind' to them. At least, according to what they said."

Fred intervened. "Of course we've been nice to them! They feed us!"

Laughter swallowed the Gryffindor common room, and Harry couldn't have been more pleased with the way things were going. Fred and George deserved a day for them. He couldn't count all the times that the two had thrown parties for other people. It was their turn.

"Happy birthday, guys," said Lee Jordan. He handed each of them a tiny box, wrapped in orange paper. "Go ahead! Open 'em!"

Fred ripped the paper off, and opened the box, which reveled tiny gold name tag. It said: _Hi! My name is George! How can I assist you?_

Fred looked at Lee. "What are these for?"

"For your joke shop. Wear them, and people will know which of you is which!"

"Aw," George pouted. "But that's no fun!" But he grinned anyway and hugged Lee. "Thanks, man. At least someone supports our decisions."

"I'd better!" Lee said. He pulled out the same type of gold nameplate from his pocket. "I even made myself one."

George and Fred laughed.

Harry couldn't remove the smile from his face. He took a swig of Butterbeer—the liquid warmed 

his inside from the crisp, mid-October air, despite being inside the castle. He grinned at Ron, who was beaming brightly.

This was the best night ever.


	15. The Curse

**__**

Chapter Fifteen – The Curse 

(A/N: Again, fourteen years ago. Yep! We're back with Frank and Genevieve!) 

**__**

SLAP!

"Where is he?" Shawn spat at Frank, who was tied to a chair, and wandless. 

Frank glared at Shawn. "You...you traitor!" 

**__**

SLAP! 

Shawn's hand pulled away from Frank's face. "Where is he, you bastard?!" 

"How would I know, Shawn? I'm not your kind. I'm not like you." 

**__**

SLAP! 

"Shawn, leave him alone!" cried Genevieve, who was also tied up, just across the room. "We don't know!" 

Shawn crossed the empty, cold room over to Genevieve. "You don't know? But you see, Jen, I think you do. I think you do know. And you'll TELL ME, DAMNIT!" His backhand whipped across Jen's face. She slowly began to cry, but he just frowned more. "Stop the crying, Jen! It will only get me angrier!" 

"How could you, Shawn? And how could I have missed it?" Frank whispered, not believing his best friend could possibly be on the side of the Dark Lord. 

Madelyn walked up to Frank. "It's so simple, Frank. Just tell us where Voldemort is, and we'll let you go. You don't have to be hurt, Frank." 

"I'm telling you, Maddie! I don't know where he is!" Frank spat, his face bright red with anger. 

"Oh," Madelyn whispered, walking out of the room. 

Shawn sat down in his own chair, right in front of Frank. "Listen, Frank, we're pals, aren't we? We're good friends. Tight. Remember that one night, at Hogwarts, you said that you'd tell me anything? That we were best friends, right Frank? Remember? Well, it's time for you to live up to that night, Frank. I don't ask much from you, Frank. Just tell me where he is. Or, I may have to use this." Shawn pulled out his wand. "We wouldn't want that, now would we, Frank?" 

Frank spat into Shawn's face. 

An evil grin spread across Shawn's face. He lifted his wand, pointed it at Frank's nose, which was bleeding from the slaps, and screamed, "CRUCIO!" 

Frank's whole body suddenly began shaking uncontrollably. His legs tried to jerk up towards his head, but because they were tied down, they couldn't. 

Shawn's eyes glowed, almost like fire, and the spasms became faster and faster, and more painful for Frank. Frank howled, suddenly, in pain, and Shawn laughed. Genevieve was crying, almost hysterically, from seeing her husband hit by the Cruciatus Curse. 

After what seemed like hours to Frank, Shawn lifted the curse off of him. 

"Had enough?" Shawn hissed, the evil smile returning. "Do you need more?" 

Frank glared at him. "I don't care, Shawn." 

Out of nowhere, Madelyn walked into the room, holding a tiny bundle of blankets. 

"NEVILLE!" screamed Jen, who began crying again. "What are you doing with my son?!" 

Madelyn's lips curled. "Frank told us that Neville was his weakness, Jen. And obviously he's yours as well." 

"Put him down, Maddie! He's only a baby!" screamed Frank. "He's not a part of this!" 

Shawn stood from his chair, and pointed his wand at the bundle in Maddie's arms. "Tell me, Frank! Tell me now! I've killed before, I'm not afraid to kill again!" 

"YOU WOULDN'T!" Jen shrieked. 

"Wouldn't I?" Shawn said calmly. "Tell me, Frank...or your son...your son..." 

Frank looked at Genevieve. "Put Neville down, Shawn," he said, quietly. 

Shawn and Maddie nodded at each other, and Maddie walked out of the room with Neville. 

Genevieve and Frank both let out a sigh of relief, tears still streaming down Jen's face. 

"Okay, Frank. Now tell me." 

Frank shook his head. "I don't know, Shawn." 

"FINE, Frank! You asked for it! Crucio!" 

Frank once again went under the Cruciatus Curse, and again, Genevieve screamed for mercy. 

"Tell me Frank!" Shawn shouted over his cries of pain. "Tell me and it will all go away!" 

Fighting through the pain, Frank screamed, "I DON'T KNOW!" 

"Okay, Frank!" The tip of Shawn's wand glowed red, and Frank's body shook harder and harder. 

Finally, the ropes holding Frank down snapped, and he fell onto the floor, shaking violently. Despite Jen's screams, Shawn refused to lighten up, and in fact, his curse became stronger and stronger. 

Then, suddenly, Shawn lifted his wand. But Frank was still shaking, though less aggressively. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and sputters of pain came like coughs out of his mouth. Shawn stared at him. "Insane," his whispered. "He's gone insane!" 

"LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" screamed Genevieve, who was beyond tears. "I can't believe you...look what you have done to Frank!" 

Madelyn suddenly appeared in the room, her eyes wide with shock from seeing Frank's body. 

"Shawn, what did you do?" 

"Get him out of here, Maddie." 

"What?" she asked, her mouth gaping at him. "But how Shawn?" 

"I don't know! Just get him out!" he screamed back, causing Maddie to jump. She pulled out her wand, and whispered a curse, so he stopped shaking, and she dragged him out. 

Shawn turned to the woman who was breathing heavily in the chair behind him. "You're it, Jen. You have to tell me, or you'll end up the same way—or worse." 

"Shawn...please, how would we know? We never worked for him..." 

"Frank's job was to end his rein! He was an Auror against the Dark Lord, trying to put an end to his cause. He and James Potter...they were friends in the fight, weren't they?" 

Jen, who had calmed, nodded. "We were good friends with the Potters, Shawn. You know that. But how—" 

"And it was James," Shawn continued, cutting Jen off, "who stopped the Dark Lord on Hollow's Eve. Correct, Jen?" 

She shook her head. "No, Shawn! He killed James! Lily too. It was Harry, Shawn. The baby who put the Dark Lord in his place..." 

"YOU'RE LYING! He could never have been beaten by a...a child!" 

"You are in denial," Jen whispered. "You are blind to see the facts! Blind to see that we won, Shawn. And you may as well give up. Because we won. The game is over." 

"NO!" shouted Shawn, his face glowing with fury. "He was not defeated by a baby! Crucio!" 

Jen began to shake, just like Frank had. Her binds also failed to keep her in the wooden chair, and she fell from her seat. Faster and faster she shook, more and more brutally. But Shawn refused to stop. The anger was welling inside, filling every fiber of his body. He had to release the anger. 

"Shawn, stop!" Madelyn cried, as she ran into the room. "Look at her!" 

Shawn ended the cruel curse, and stared at Jen. She was twitching softly, and saliva escaped from her open mouth. It looked as if she were having a seizer of some sort. 

"Get her out," whispered Shawn, as he backed away from Jen's contorted body. When Maddie didn't move, he yelled. "GET HER OUT, I SAID!" 

Maddie nodded, and hurried to do the same spell she had for Frank. Before pulling Genevieve out, she looked up at Shawn. "At least they're together in insanity," she said coldly, and left with Jen dragging behind her. 

Shawn collapsed on the floor. He stared at his wand, and suddenly threw it to the other side of the room. He then looked at his right hand, his wand hand. Then, he began to cry. Loud sobs escaped from his body, and he had to lie down. Shawn curled into a fetus position, and moaned. 

Another man entered the room, and jumped when he saw Shawn. "Excuse me, sir?" 

Shawn ignored the voice, and continued to cry. 

"Sir...erm..." 

"Go away, Barty," Shawn forced through his wails. 

Barty Crouch didn't know what to do. "Well, sir, I mean...that is..." 

"I said," Shawn whimpered, "go away!" 

"Mad-Eye Moody is here!" Barty screamed, and ran from the room. 

Shawn sat up immediately. "Mad-Eye..." he whispered to himself, and then he started to panic. How could anyone have known? They were in the middle of nowhere.... 

He jumped up and ran to the corner where his wand lay. He picked it up, and waved it around. Sparks of gold and silver trailed the wand—it was still in working order. 

Running to the opposite end of the abandoned house where he had brought the Longbottoms, he whispered, "Accio cloak!", and a large cloak flew to him. He caught it in his hand, and he put it on. He wrapped it around his head, and placed his wand in the interior pocket. He then headed towards the back door, where he escaped, leaving the rest of his "team" behind. 

It was the fastest and farthest he had ever run. He knew what the penalty was...Azkaban. But he knew he couldn't be caught. No one else, except perhaps Madelyn, was more loyal to Voldemort than he, and he had to go find his master. No matter what the cost. He had to save his master from the humiliation of being nothing...he was going to restore his master to life! He wasn't going to let anyone, not even Mad-Eye Moody stop him. 

Shawn slowed his pace down to a light jog. The house he was running from was miles away, by that time. His legs ached and throbbed with pain; He was no marathon runner. He took time to look around. The woods were not a strange place for Shawn. He had been an avid hiker before going to the Dark Side. 

A single hoot told Shawn that there was a bard owl near by, meaning there must be rodents near by as well. He looked around for a comfortable place to rest—his pace now at a slow walk. He found a pile of dried needles under an evergreen, which is where he collapsed. His breathing was quick, but rhythmic, and for the first time he became aware of the pounding in his head. 

A screech from the owl, and the muffled sound of something being caught in its talons. A mouse, no doubt. Shawn realized how hungry he was, and wished he had gotten the time back at the house to get something to eat. 

The owl suddenly shrieked, and Shawn heard something hit the ground. A rustle, then a muttering sound. A person! Shawn suddenly stood, and was prepared to flee, when he recognized the voice. It was familiar...he had heard it many times before...unmistakably.... 

"Peter?" 

The man turned quickly, his stubby body unable to find its balance, and crashed to the ground. 

"Peter, it's me! Shawn!" Shawn hurried over to where Peter had fallen, and kneeled down. "What are you doing here? The last we heard...well, everyone thinks your—" 

"Dead?" interjected Peter, who laughed slightly. "Then my plan worked! Is Black in prison?" 

Shawn gaped at the man. "Yes! Peter...how did you...who helped you..." 

Insulted, Peter pouted. "No one helped me, Shawn! I did it alone. Quite brilliant, wouldn't you say so? I knew it would work...Muggles are so easy to fool..." 

"But your finger!" Shawn exclaimed. "They found your finger at the scene! How did you...I mean, I wouldn't have..." 

"You wouldn't have cut off your finger if it meant helping our Lord? Oh, Shawn," Peter said, with a hit of phony disappointment, "maybe Master has underestimated you." 

"No! No, that's not what I meant...if it meant helping our Lord, then of course! But..." Shawn paused. "How did you know you could get Black?" 

"Black was always protective of the Potters," explained Peter. "Too bad he was too protective. Thought no one would ever suspect me of being the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Wasn't very bright, was he? Always trying to do what was best...never looking at the obvious. I mean, if he had followed me on any day, he would have realized that I was a Death Eater! I wasn't careful with my tracks." 

Shawn couldn't help but smile. "Peter, I'm so glad to see you. We'll go search for our Lord together! It will be much easier with two people..." 

"Shawn, I can turn into a rat and hide from the public eye." Peter paused. "Are you running? Why are you out here?" 

"I caught the Longbottoms and tried to force information. I ended up introducing them to the world of insanity." 

"That was juvenile, Shawn. Longbottoms didn't know anything." 

"Thanks, now you tell me." 

Peter smiled. "So, you are on the run then? From the Aurors?" 

Shawn nodded. "Yes." 

"Then, as I was saying, I can turn into a rat and hide from the public eye. What can you do to hide yourself? You are not an amagi. You could not hide." 

Shawn nodded, sadly. It was true: there was no way for him to hide from the Aurors. They would find him eventually, and put him into Azkaban. 

"Shawn, go into Azkaban. You'll survive there: your tough, something I know I'm not. Go there, and, eventually, we'll get the dementors on our side. Hopefully sooner, rather then later. But go, and I promise that you will come out. Alive." 

Thinking, Shawn laid down on the soft, earthy ground. If he were to go into Azkaban, he wouldn't be able to help his master. If he didn't, he would have to spend his life in hiding. And that wouldn't do anyone any good. If he were to go into Azkaban, he had a chance of getting out... 

"Okay, Peter. I'll go. But this is for my Lord. No one else." 

Peter nodded. "I understand, Shawn. You'd better get going, then. Don't lead them to me. Please, I intend to go find our Master." 

"Of course, Peter. I will not let them find you out here." Shawn stood, and wiped the dirt off of his cloak. He smiled at Peter, and extended a hand. "I hope our paths shall cross soon, Peter. And preferably, outside of the Azkaban walls." 

Peter took Shawn's hand and lightly shook it. "Ditto, Shawn. And I guarantee that you will be out of Azkaban, with the dementors on our side, and the world bowing at our feet." 

Shawn released a bright smile, let go of Peter's hand, and ran off into the woods, back to the house.


	16. The Leaky Cauldron

**__**

Chapter Sixteen -- The Leaky Cauldron 

Cornelius Fudge was alone at his usual table, a bowler hat on his head, and glass of liquor in his hand. An occasional lift to his lips, and the deep drinking of the cold drink eventually began to leave him slightly woozy, though he wasn't completely drunk. He would ramble a few things ("Why didn't I listen to Dumbledore? What have I done?"), but it was never loud enough for the chatting people around him to hear.

A high bell rang, and Cornelius looked up from his drink. A man was walking into the bar. He looked young, strong, and powerful. Fudge recognized the man as Arthur Weasley's son, Bill, from when he had the little meeting about the Azkaban guards and prisoners. He smiled to himself: Bill was right on time.

Bill looked around a bit, and found Fudge in the corner. He walked over, smoothly, causing a few young girls to watch his back as he passed them. They then turned to each other and giggled, obviously liking what they saw. He ignored them though--he had more important things to think about.

"Minister," he said politely, though he believed that the man sitting at the table had no right to have such an honorable and responsible title. He sat next to Fudge. "What did you wish to see me about, sir?"

Cornelius had not looked into Bill's eyes, but instead spoke into his drink. "I need your help."

Bill lightly snorted. "You could use anyone's help. What would you like me to do?"

Fudge finally looked into Bill's eyes. "Take over for me."

Silence passed, for just a few moments, until the young Weasley asked, "What?"

"You must become the Minister, Mr. Weasley. You are smart. Bright. Intelligent. You have common sense, and you understand the times we are living in." Fudge placed a hand on Bill's. "Please boy. I must escape from here. And someone needs to run the Ministry."

Bill shook his head. "Sir, I..." he frowned. "What do you mean, escape? You're running? From what you have done?" Bill became angry, suddenly, and his quiet voice rose. "You mean that you're running from office? To leave us with the problems you have created? You can't! You must solve his disaster, Minister!" After noticing a few heads had turned, Bill quieted again. "I can't cover for you."

"Please, Mr. Weasley!" begged Fudge, his eyes pleading. "I beg of you...help me!"

"No!" Bill pulled away from him. "I will not help you corrupt the Ministry any further." Bill stood from his seat, and glared down upon the Minister. "You should be ashamed. And I am looking forward to the impeachment trial in January." And with that, Bill began to walk away.

"You don't understand!" Fudge screamed, everyone in the bar suddenly quieting. "You must help! I...I could be put in prison!"

"_What prison?!_" Bill angrily spat, turning around, and forgetting the observers. "Have you forgotten that you have disbanded the only wizarding prison within hundreds of miles?" He advanced on the Minister. "And I hope you _are_ sentenced to prison. Maybe we can have you sent away the Middle East, somewhere. Their punishments are much more severe other there. Perfect for a corruptor of your status."

Cornelius Fudge gaped at Bill; he hadn't expected him to turn down the job. The job of the Minister paid well, and was perfect for someone of Bill's frame of mind. Fudge became angry, and suddenly threatened Bill. "I demand you take this opportunity! Maybe your family would actually be able to _eat_ with the money you'll make!"

A few listeners gasped, others chuckled. Bill rounded in upon the stalky man, and growled. "How dare you. How _dare_ you say something like that, when _you_ are the one who finalizes my father's pay!"

"Take the job, William! Take, it!" Fudge threatened.

"I would never, _ever_ try to help you. You brought our Ministry in this mess. You get us out."

Bill turned his back, and suddenly, a crack sounded in the air...an explosion, more than a crack. Screams from the girls sounded, and Tom, the bartender, ran out from behind his post. Tom grabbed Cornelius' collar, and screamed in his ear: "How dare you! I'm calling the police!"

Fudge panicked, and looked at what he had done. He then made another explosion, this time towards himself, and fell too the ground. But no one cared what he had done; they were all concentrating on the fallen body of Bill Weasley.

An older woman ran to him, and examined his back, where the Muggle machine had punctured a hole. Blood poured from the hole, staining his heavy knitted sweater, which had clearly been home made by his mother.

"I need someone's jacket!" she exclaimed, holding a hand out. A random person handed her a thin coat, which was perfect for the autumn weather, but not stopping severe bleeding. Nonetheless, the woman placed the jacket on the hole and placed a large amount of pressure on it. She screamed again, "Get the doctors here! Now!"

The jacket that had been supplied to her, quickly filled with blood, and soon seized to do any good. A girl offered to go ask for robes from _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, and various men stripped themselves of their shirts to give to the woman. She used everything, but nothing seemed to stop the bleeding.

Paramedics suddenly busted into the bar, causing everyone to move from the body, giving them room to step in. The old woman was released from her heroic position, and she sat at a table, as the tears began to stream down the wrinkled face.

Two of the five paramedics rounded in on Fudge, who by that time had no hope of surviving. The other three examined young Bill, who had still not moved.

And as one checked his pulse, the crowd of witnesses held their breath, waiting for the answer to the poor man's condition.

"He has passed on," he whispered breathlessly, his voice full of pain, and torment.

The crowd could only cry.


	17. Kidnap the Traitor

**__**

Chapter Seventeen – Kidnap the Traitor

"You don't know how it makes me feel to see my two most loyal subjects return to me after all these years," Voldemort said, smiling at the bowing Death Eaters. "I trust the escape went well?"

"Excellent, My lord," Shawn answered, smiling at him as he stood. "Nothing went wrong."

Voldemort sat in his chair and rubbed his cloak smooth. "Good…good."

Madelyn stood. "My lord, we wish to do whatever possible to help out with your cause. We are anxious to get back to our work."

"I am thankful for that, Maddie, and I actually have a task for you two."

"Anything, sir," Shawn said, his chest rising with pride.

"We have been unsuccessful at capturing the Potter boy. But we have found that he has learned to trust his Gryffindor friends to a great extent. Therefore, we want to pull one of his feeble friends onto our side.

"We have chosen the culprit, and I know you two are perfect for this task."

Shawn and Maddie glanced at each other, and looked back at Voldemort. "Who, My lord?" asked Shawn.

"Neville Longbottom."

The two prisoners beamed, and in unison replied "Yes, sir," before turning and proceeding with the task.

^*^*^

"Amazing, Harry! Absolutely stunning!" Ron said, climbing into his bed. "Three-hundred-forty-two to six…I bet Malfoy is crying in his pillow right now."

Dean nodded. "It _was_ unbelievable, Harry. A six-hour game! Everyone suspected that someone had hidden the Snitch in order to get out of the Potions test. Snape was furious we missed it."

Harry laughed. "I'm so happy we missed it. Does he really think I know how to properly slit a cow rectum?" 

Everyone laughed.

Neville yawned. "Well, I'm going to bed. I don't think I can handle anymore excitement for the day."

One by one, each occupant of the room fell into a sweet dream sleep.

He was careful entering the room, not allowing any of the boys to stir. He was careful of how to get in: borrowing Mr. Crabbe's invisibility cloak was quite helpful, and it was easy following the boys into the room. They were too excited about the recent Quidditch match to get the feeling of being followed. 

He was slightly surprised, seeing Neville Longbottom. Not at all like his father. Frank had been tall, muscular, and handsome. Neville was heavier, not _nearly_ as good-looking, and quite a klutz. He doubted that girls loved and admired Neville, like they had Frank so many years ago. He also highly doubted from the way he was practicing his Defense of the Dark Arts, that Neville was any good at school.

On the plus side, he could tell Neville was persuadable. A tall red-Headed boy had offered some kind of candy to Neville, and though Neville refused to take it, he was willing to eat it after the boy assured him it was harmless. To Neville's dismay, it ended up turning him into a headless chicken. 

Just a little closer, he crept to Neville's bed. Just a bit closer….there. He was there, Neville sleeping loudly in front of him. He pulled out his wand, whispered, _Peso leggero!_, allowing Neville to be a lighter weight, _Silenzioso!_, to ensure Neville didn't hear him. He threw the large cloak over both of them, and hurried out the room.

^*^*^

Neville shifted on the bed, yawning as he did so. A shiver ran down his body, and he reached out for some blankets, only to find they were missing. He opened his eyes, and found he was not in the familiar Gryffindor room, but in a strange dungeon place, placed upon a single mattress. He shrugged and pinched himself, believing it all the time to be a dream. To his horror, he did not wake up in a normal bed, but stayed right were he was.

"Ah, Neville. You are awake."

He quickly turned around, facing the bars which kept him in his prison. A man, tall, rugged holding a torch for light. He smiled at Neville, though coldly, and continued, "My master wishes to see you. If you'll follow me…"

Neville didn't move, despite the fact that the man had opened the bar door, and was beckoning for Neville to come out. 

"Do not be scared, he wishes you no harm. He merely wants to talk."

Standing, Neville nodded and followed, though reluctantly. He stayed close to the man, considering he had the only source of light in the dark hallways. He considered for a fleeting moment to run, but considering this place was new, he wouldn't know where do go.

After climbing a few stairs, he entered a lit room, but the light was dim. Hundreds of people were mingling around the room, paying little attention to him. He man who was leading Neville brought him to the left side of the room, where a sinister man sat waiting.

"_Voldemort!_" Neville cried, his body shaking. "N-No!"

The man smiled. "I told you, Mr. Longbottom, he means you no harm! He would just like to talk business…."

Neville continued to follow, too afraid to do anything but obey orders. As he neared Voldemort, Voldemort stood and smiled. "Mr. Longbottom! Welcome, welcome!"

The man stopped Neville's walking, and motioned for him to stand there.

"Ah, thank you Mr. Goyle. You are excused." The man walked away, and he turned to Neville. "I hope your stay has been welcoming? Would you like anything to drink, or…" he took notice of the round tummy. "Eat?"

Neville didn't answer, but just started with wide eyes to the floor.

"Understandable, Mr. Longbottom!" Voldemort laughed, walked towards the frightened boy. "But please, be comfortable. I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word. And Voldemort is a man of his word!"

A sudden reaction from Neville: "Why should I trust you?!"

Voldemort jumped slightly, surprised by the boy's sudden vocalization. "Why, because, I need to ask a favor of you." He turned to a chubby man. "Wormtail! A chair for this good man! Don't want him standing all day, now do we?"

Wormtail ran and stole a chair from another Death Eater, and put it next to Neville. Neville sat stiffly in the chair.

Voldemort conjured himself a chair, and sat down with Neville. "Boy, I have a request."

"I don't have to do anything for you," said the surprisingly brave Neville. "You hurt my parents."

Voldemort stared sadly at him. "Oh, Neville. I suppose your grandmother told you that?" After a nod from Neville, Voldemort shook his own head. "No, no. You see, some of my _men_ did that. I did not give them orders to hurt your parents. I was as shocked as everyone else was when word came out that they were…well…_sick_. I honestly did nothing to promote their attack. In fact, I am willing to help your parents, if you do something for me."

After a few moments of consideration, Neville asked, "What do you want?"

A smile appeared on Voldemort's ugly face, and he smiled. "Get me Potter."

Neville blinked. "Harry? No! Harry's my friend! I'd never hurt him."

"Oh, Neville. You disappoint me!"

"Let me go, I don't want anything to do with this." Neville jumped up and started to walk out.

Voldemort stood and shouted. "Neville, I don't think you realize what you are turning down! I could save your parents from the clutch of insanity!"

Neville stopped walking. "What?"

Voldemort grinned. "You could talk to your parents, Neville. I know they were innocent of whatever they were accused of. My men were _wrong_ for hurting them. But Neville, recovery is possible."

Neville fell back into the chair. "You can help them?"

"Of course. I am the greatest wizard of all time. Dumbledore would _never_ help them."

Moments, then minutes, and hours seemed to pass. Finally Neville asked, "You promise you'll help them?"

"Yes, Neville. You have my word."

"Then what must I do?"


	18. Visits of Reassurance

**__**

Chapter Eighteen – Visits of Reassurance 

Snow now covered the Hogwarts grounds, and the excitement of the Gryffindors winning the Quidditch Cup still was recognizable in the air. The decorations still lingered in the common room, and people still came up to Harry to congratulate him on his amazing ability to run a team. 

But the three friends continued to endlessly worry about their missing friend, Hagrid. Harry continued to take care of Treacle, though the owl was usually found in the owl tower along with the others. 

Dumbledore would occasionally come to them in the halls, and say, "He is fine," but this wasn't reassuring enough to Hermione, Ron, and especially Harry. 

Though they trusted him to say if anything were wrong, the three repeated words weren't enough to keep them from finding out themselves. 

"Treacle, find Hagrid, and give this letter to him," Harry said one night, up in the owlery. "Don't let anyone have it but Hagrid, okay?" 

Treacle nipped his finger, and flew out the window, leaving Harry to his thoughts. 

As he turned to walk out, another person ran into him, causing Harry to fall into a pile of owl feces. 

"Oh, sorry Harry," Neville said. He walked over to an owl, and tied a letter to him. "Didn't see you there." 

Harry sneered. "That's okay, Neville. Whom're you sending the letter to?" 

"My grandmother. Just confirming that we'll be going to see someone during Christmas break." 

"Your parents?" 

Neville jumped, startled by Harry's reaction. "What?" 

Harry bit his lip, remembering that Neville didn't know that Harry knew about his parents. "Sorry, Nev." 

"How do you know about my parents?" 

"Just a guess, Neville. I don't know anything," Harry lied. 

Defensively, Neville said, "They're going to get better. Someone's going to help me. And I'll have my parents back!" 

Harry looked at him sadly. "Neville, it's okay. Lots of people don't have parents." 

"Like who?" 

Smiling, Harry said, "Well…like me, for instance." 

Neville forced a smile back. "I'm sorry, Harry. You…you just don't know what it's like." 

"Well, Neville, I guess I don't. But this guy…he's really going to help you? He must be a good guy." 

Neville smirked. "Think what you want, Harry," he said, and left. 

Harry just stood with a strange expression on his face. 

^*^*^ 

Neville stepped off the Hogwarts Express, and found his grandmother waiting for him near the back of the small crowd. He waddled his way towards her, beaming brightly. He welcomed her with a hug, and then hurried back to the train in order to get his few bags which he brought with him. 

"Gram, remember that my…friend, will be joining us when we visit mum and dad," Neville said as they began to leave the station. 

Gram smiled at him. "Of course, dear. It'll be nice for me to see you get with your friends." 

Neville just nodded, slightly ashamed for lying to his own grandmother. 

Just as he began to leave, a hand suddenly fell upon Neville's shoulder. 

"Neville, I know what you're doing." 

Neville turned and faced Draco Malfoy, who was staring at him with intense, gray eyes. 

"Huh?" 

Draco glared at him. "With your parents. With Voldemort. And Harry." 

He shrugged Draco's hand off his shoulder. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" 

"Don't do it, Neville. Don't become me." Draco blinked sadly at Neville, and then turned and walked away, head down. 

Neville glared at the back of Draco's head, cursing him silently. 

*^*^* 

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Neville, I really am. But due to circumstances…" 

"But you promised!" Neville shouted, daring to discipline a man who had never been disciplined in his life. "And I thought Voldemort was a man of his word." 

Voldemort frowned. "Oh, I am, Neville! I really am. But you see…" 

"But I see no reason for you not to come to my parents, and set things right. Unless, you did in fact lie to me, in which case there'd be no reason for me to assist you in the killing of Harry Pott—" 

"I will help you!" shouted Voldemort, in a rage. "But you must understand! There are some matters that will come first. Such as, your funeral arrangements, if you persist…" 

Neville gulped at the threat, and sighed. "Yes, My Lord…" 

He walked out. 

Shawn blinked at Voldemort. "Master, why do you let him treat you so...well, he's just...not a real Death Eater, it seems." 

Voldemort shook his head. "Because of me, Neville is growing braver. The braver we get him, the quicker he'll destroy Potter. Besides, if we make him strong, it will allow him to feel good about himself. And when he realizes the it was because of joining _me_, he won't want to leave." 

^*^*^ 

The doors swung open, and Neville walked in, followed by his grandmother. His expression was how it always was; sad, disturbed, and lonely. But the expression of fear was not visible in his eyes, like it usually was when he stepped into Saint Mungos. He gradually began to lose his fear when he started working with Voldemort. 

Down the hall, to the right, fifth door on the left. Knock. Open, sit in the empty chairs. A routine he had been through hundreds of times. He looked at his parents, who were in wheelchairs, staring blankly out the window. 

Neville and his grandmother sat there for hours, just watching, and speaking to Genevieve and Frank, though they knew quite well that there was no way they could communicate back. Neville was used to that. But the idea that there was some way they _could_ be better, some way they could be _okay_, and they weren't getting that opportunity, was unnerving to him. He cursed Voldemort for letting him down, but knew that he would help his parents eventually. After all, Voldemort's a man of his word. 

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Neville's grandmother stood, and motioned for Neville to say goodbye to his parents. He stood and kissed each on the cheek. He then whispered into his father's ear, "Don't worry dad. I promise, you'll be okay. Tell mom. You two are going to get better. I have it under control."


	19. Check

**__**

Chapter Nineteen – Check 

Mother, 

I have tried. I have sent him notes, talked to him, everything I can possible do to stop him from helping with the cause. Why have he does this? He reminds me of Wormtail. He really, really does. But is there no hope for him? Shall I always live in fear of him now? How can I keep Harry from him? I am failing, Mum. And I don't like it. Help me stop Neville. Please, help! 

Your son,  
Draco 

Draco cursed as he slipped, and a blot appeared on the parchment. He sighed and pulled out another, repeating the same words as the letter before. He read it over, making sure he stated everything he needed to, before putting it into an envelope and sending his owl, Archimedes, off with it. 

He was failing. Months had passed by since Neville agreed to help Voldemort. And he had done nothing to ruin the cause. He had tried. He tried everything. He even began to reappear at Death Eater meetings: secretly, of course, while using his mother's Invisibility Cloak. Once in a while, he would even use a Polyjuice Potion and disguise himself as another follower. Voldemort never said a word, though Draco was almost positive he knew. 

Only once, for a fleeting second, hand Draco considered going to Dumbledore about what was happening. And he knew it was getting more and more severe. 

The news of Cornelius Fudge's suicide frightened Draco. It only meant that Voldemort was winning: he had scared the Minister. Scared him to death. Literally. 

And as for the news of Bill Weasley's death, Draco was stunned. Never, in a million years, did he ever imagine Bill Weasley, or any Weasley, being a victim of Voldemort. Not that Bill was a victim directly. But Draco knew that because Voldemort had the dementors, Cornelius wanted Bill to take over, and when Bill refused, Fudge shot him. Voldemort's fault. 

Draco gave his deepest sympathies to Ron—at least, he tried. Ron just sneered at him, rolled his eyes, and walked away from Draco, cursing him under his breath. Ginny, on the other hand, was much more thankful for Draco's concern. 

"Ginny," Draco said to her one day in the halls, on his way to Herbology. "I'm terribly sorry about your brother." 

Ginny blinked at him in surprise. "Oh. Why, thank you." 

Draco smiled at her, trying to be comforting. To his surprise, she gave a small smile back, before hurrying away to join her other Gryffindors. A sigh of relief swept through him after that. _I'm a good guy_, he thought to himself, before turning the other way and continuing to his class. 

But now, that day seemed all too long ago, and Draco's soothing feeling of wholesomeness was being wiped away by the agonizing knowledge of what Neville was going to do to Harry. True, Draco didn't like Harry. Despite the fact that he was no longer working with Voldemort, Draco still despised the boy. Anyone in his position would: You're never as good a Seeker, never are quite as popular. And you're not nearly as famous. 

Draco sighed. None of those things could keep him from trying to save Harry, though. He refused to let Voldemort get the upper hand. 

He checked his watch. Breakfast. He rubbed his eyes, blew out his candle, and looked at his room in darkness. The weather was terrible: thunder, lightening, and pounding rain that send shivers down Draco's spine every time it slammed against the window. It was so dark outside, there was no natural light in the room, and Draco's candle had been the only source. 

Curling his lip at his still sleeping roommates, he put on a cloak and headed down to the Great Hall. 

It was early, but there were still a good number of students eating the breakfast that the House-elves had prepared for them. Draco sat down at the Slytherin table, helping himself to some eggs and sausage. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, and smiled to himself when he saw the trio absent from their usual seats. 

"Good morning," Pansy said, sitting next to Draco at the table. "How is everyone?" 

The rest of the Slytherins grunted a "ugh" to her, and she smiled, taking the noises as a "good". She looked to where Draco was starting and made a "tsk tsk" sound. 

"What?" Draco asked, shifting away from her a bit. 

Pansy sighed. "Aren't you ever going to get over _them_? They're pathetic little Gryffindors, and you shouldn't be worried by them." 

Draco snorted. "Look who's talking." 

She blushed a bit, and turned back to her food. "Well, I still think you're being ridiculous," she muttered. 

"You would." 

Pansy put down her fork. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" 

"Whatever you want it to mean, Parkinson." 

She blinked at him, in surprise. The Slytherins only called their enemies by their last names: not other Slytherins. "What has gotten into you!?" 

With a smug smile, Draco just simply shrugged. 

^*^*^ 

"Where is that boy?" Hermione grunted, tapping her foot impatiently. She turned to Ron. "Are you sure he was with you?" 

Ron nodded. "He went to bed last night.... Don't know where he could have gotten to." 

Seamus suddenly walked into the common room, and smiled. "Hey guys. Aren't you going to breakfast?" 

"Seamus," Hermione asked, "have you seen Harry at all today?" 

Seamus shook his head. "No...no, not after last night." 

Hermione pouted, and fell back into the large recliner. "Well, this is absurd. I'm _starving!_" 

Dean walked into the room, a confused look plastered to his face. He walked over to Ron, Hermione, and Seamus, and asked, "Have any of you seen Neville? Is he at breakfast already?" 

The three shrugged, and Hermione questioned, "Why?" 

"I let him borrow my baseball bat souvenir last night, and I want it back. But I don't know where on earth he put the thing. Did you see him do anything with it, Ron?" 

Ron shook his head. "No. Didn't even know you had a baseball bat. Erm...you didn't happen to see Harry, did you?" 

Dean shook his head. "Is he missing?" 

"Looks like it," Seamus said, a hit of worry in his voice. "I mean, this isn't like him, is it? To just...I dunno, disappear? Especially when he usually meets you two for breakfast," he added, gesturing to Ron and Hermione. 

"Well, I'm starving," Hermione said, hearing her stomach rumble. "Ron, can we just go?" 

Ron nodded. "I guess he'll just meet us there." 

Dean and Seamus nodded, and left with them for breakfast. 

^*^*^ 

Hard floor beneath him. A chill ran in his spine, and caused a shiver in his body. He could barley see—he wasn't sure if it was because it was dark, or a response from the blow to his head earlier that night. He wondered if it was still night, and wished he could take a look at his watch. He felt around with his hands, looking for anything that might tell him where he was. 

The last thing Harry remembered was waking up to find Neville standing over him, a large bat in hand. From then on, he remembered nothing—just waking up on the cold, hard floor. 

Unbeknownst to him, there were rats scurrying around him, and a bar door, like the ones in prisons, was holding him within the room. If he had been able to see, he would also be able to tell that there was a window in his little cell, and it was early morning—though no sun was shining brightly, like on other April mornings. 

Pain shot through his head, and he cringed. He began to massage his temples, but yanked his hands away when he felt a slightly wet, half dry substance on his face. If he had been able to see, he would have known it was blood. 

It didn't take long for Harry to realize that he was in a bad situation. That something was terribly wrong, and wherever he was, he needed to get out. But with no sight, he had no idea where he was, and wouldn't be able to escape. And when he tried to make sense of everything, his mind could only come back to one name, which he shouted at the top of his lungs: 

"NEVILLE!"


	20. Draco the Dragon

**__**

Chapter Twenty – Draco the Dragon

"I can't understand it, Ron," Hermione said, biting her fingernails. "I'm so worried...where could he possibly be?"

Ron forced a reassuring smile. "He's probably with Dumbledore or something. Nothing could have happened: this is Hogwarts."

"But don't you think he would have been back by now? It's time for class! Dumbledore wouldn't really want Harry to miss class, would he?"

Shrugging, Ron sighed. "Maybe. I mean, maybe it's something serious they're talking about."

Draco listened to this conversation from a safe distance, and a sinking feeling entered his stomach. If Harry was missing, he could only think of one explanation: Neville had done it. He frowned deeply. He didn't think Neville would have done it so quickly. He thought he had more time to fix the whole mess. But obviously, he had underestimated Longbottom.

He had to do something. He hurried over, though cautiously, to Hermione and Ron, and interrupted. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

"Oh Malfoy, no body really cares what you have to say," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I have an idea about where Harry is. But, if you really don't care..."

"Where?!" Hermione asked quickly, forgetting that it was Draco Malfoy who she was talking to.

Draco frowned, despite his relief that she was willing to listen. "I'm afraid he may...I think he's with Voldemort."Hermione and Ron both just stared at him, disbelief in their eyes.

"Listen, I can prove this to you. I have proof that Neville Longbottom is working with Voldemort."

Hermione jumped in surprise. "Neville?!" She turned to Ron. "He's missing too."

Draco frowned. "Well? What are you going to do about it?"

"Ron, we have to do something," Hermione said, staring up at Ron.

Ron nodded, and sighed. "Okay Malfoy...what do you know?

*^*^*

"Oracle? I've heard of those!" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying into the Gryffindor common room. "Does Harry really have one?"

Draco nodded. "And Voldemort needs it. He needs it to gain power. But the Oracle is only useful to him if every single male Potter is dead. Therefore, he needs Harry gone."

Ron glared at him. "How do you know this?!"

"I used to be a Death Eater before I wised up, remember?" Draco said darkly. "I'm surprised you forgot."

"And how do I know you're not just doing this to capture me and Hermione and bring us to Voldemort?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ron! Hush up! And it's Hermione and me—the person speaking is always mentioned last—"

Ron's glare cut Hermione off. She turned back to Draco, and asked, "What do we do?"

Draco blinked at her. "What do you mean? We go find him, of course!"

"What?!" Ron shouted. "Find him? What are you talking about?!"

"Yes, find him!" Draco glared, imagining a stake being driven through Ron. "What else did you expect? We can't let Voldemort win!"

Ron scowled while considering his options. Death lingered on his mind, but not his death: Hermione's. He couldn't put her life at risk, never mind the fact that Harry was also in danger. If this is all true, of course, thought Ron, still skeptical of the reality of this surreal situation. Yet something about Draco seemed trustworthy, and though Ron loathed him, he chose to follow Draco's steps, and help save Harry.

While Ron did this, Hermione was also debating. She would put her life at risk in a second, if it meant saving her best friend. But when it came to Ron, she was not sure if she could handle it, knowing is he was in such a dangerous position. The family had already lost their eldest boy, and she wasn't about to let them lose the youngest.

And throughout their pondering, Draco prayed that Harry was still safe, and the Oracle was still in it's place. The most frightening thought was the notion that Voldemort already had the Oracle, and was now finding the Hand of Midas.

"We have two choices," Draco piped up, causing Hermione and Ron to break out of their thoughts. "We can either go to Voldemort and try to find Harry, or..." he considered his words carefully. "We can go looking for the Hand of Midas," he said, unable to state the adventure any better than that.

Ron rubbed his eyes. "Which do you think would be more effective?"

Draco shrugged. "Depends. If Voldemort has already found the Oracle, then that means Harry is dead, probably, and we'd need to go protect the Hand. If Harry's still alive, I suggest rescuing him."

While Ron debated these options, Hermione stated her position without a second thought: "Find Harry. We should at least have hope: we go find Harry first, before trying anything else."

Draco bit a lip. "You realize, you'll probably end up going into Voldemort's hideaway?"

"I don't care."

Looking at Ron: "Well?" Draco asked.

"Let's do it," Ron said, a smile appearing on his face. "Let's do it!"


	21. Crests of Danger

**__**

Chapter Twenty-One – Crests of Danger 

The entrance to the chamber belonging to Voldemort and his Death Eaters seemed like something out of an Indiana Jones movie: it was out in the desert dunes, sand blowing around so violently, that at times it began to bruise the skin. Blazing sun caused Ron's freckles to burst of out of his skin, Draco's fair skin burned harshly. Hermione's eyes were hurting so badly from the sandstorms, that she had buried her head into Ron's shoulder, keeping her eyes safe.

Draco had taken them there with Floo Powder. They traveled from the Gryffindor's fireplace to an old, abandoned house, which was located in the middle of the desert. Draco had informed Ron and Hermione that the building had been placed there over forty years ago, when Voldemort found the cavern to use as his hideaway. When Ron asked why they had built it so far away, Draco answered that it was to fool any Aurors: they would naturally expect that they cave would be near the house, not some twenty miles away. Ron commented on how idiotic and inconvenient this seemed, when Draco replied, "Well? Ministry hasn't caught him, have they?"

Hermione asked where exactly where they were. It was impossible to be somewhere in Europe: they had no such deserts. Draco told her that he wasn't quite sure himself. He had asked his father, but he never answered in detail. All he knew, was that they were somewhere in Africa.

A sidewinder suddenly crept up behind the trio, and Hermione let out a shriek.

"Oh, quiet," Draco growled, changing coarse to follow the snake. "He's going to show us the way in. The entrance is always a challenge to find: Voldemort has trained this snake to lead us to it."

Ron put an arm around Hermione, trying to get her to calm down a bit. "How does it know if you're a Death Eater or not?"

Draco blinked at him. "Who else would be out here?"

They continued following the sidewinder, until suddenly, it stopped. There was nothing in front of them: no cave entrance, no building of any kind.

"Malfoy, what—" began Ron, but he was cut off when he watched Draco bend down, and begin digging away at the sand. Ron opened his mouth again, but stopped short when he saw a door in the ground. The door was like a hatch: much like the one he, Hermione, and Harry had come across in their first year which had been guarded by Fluffy, the three-headed dog. But, in this door, there was a skull with a snake through it, carved elegantly into the thick wood. The Dark Mark.

Draco lifted the latch, and the door was released, allowing them to enter. Steep, twisting stairs led the way down to the earth beneath them—to the cavern where Voldemort was. He lifted his head, and smiled at Hermione. "Ladies first."

"Oh no," Ron said, glaring down at Malfoy. "You go first. We'll follow."

Draco shrugged, and began to step down the stone steps carefully. He frowned deeply, wanting a railing to hang on to. He never did like the stairwell that much.

He got off the last step, after accelerating a bit near the end. He yelled up, "Come on down!" to Ron and Hermione, and waited coolly by another door for them to join him.

As soon as they did, he gave his orders.

"Now, you two listen here, this isn't going to be a picnic. There is a..._situation_ you'll have to get through first, before actually entering the chamber. Just listen to my instructions, and you'll survive this."

"Survive this? Situation? You never mentioned this, Malfoy," Ron spat, crossing his arms. "What kind of 'situation' are we going to have to beat?"

Draco glared back. "One that only I can get you through. If you don't listen, you won't make it. Got it Weasley?"

A push on the door opened it, and a great corridor was presented in front of them. Draco whispered, "_Lumos!_" and the torches lit up magically, sending an eerie green light throughout the hall. Markings of an old, ancient language covered the walls. Draco informed Hermione and Ron that the language was Sanskrit, contrary to Hermione's idea of it being the Egyptian language of hieroglyphics.

After a few minutes walk, they came to the middle of the hall, where a large crest was carved into the floor. Holes were driven into the ground, and walls. Ron asked what the holes were for.

"The situation. You have to get across the crest."

A snort came from Ron, and Hermione asked, "What's the catch?"

"During your crossing, spears will be flying in at you from all directions. Stay low, be fast. That's the only advice I can give you." He smiled at them. "I'll go first, shall I?"

Hermione nodded uncomfortably, and Ron did the same.

Draco backed away a few paces, and then bolted forwards, running at an amazing speed. He suddenly ducked: a spear flew right where his head had been a split second before. He rolled onto his back and stood again: he just missed some spears coming from the holes in the ground.

Hermione squealed, and covered her eyes, too frightened to watch Draco cross safely. He waved to them from the over side, and cried, "Come on, Ron! Let's see what you got!"

Grinding his teeth, Ron backed up just like Draco had before starting across the crest. He noticed Hermione biting her teeth with worry and smiled at her. "Don't worry, Herm. Just a bit of running." She smiled back, though weakly, and he took off, running with all his might.

Jump! A spear came from below. Duck! A spear from above. _Wham!_ A sudden pain in the left side of Ron's upper chest caused him to trip, and fall to the ground.

He saw Malfoy run over to him, and felt himself being dragged across a spear-less floor. He looked up to see Draco inspecting his wound, but blacked out before he could see the damage that had been done.


	22. Into the Dark

**__**

Chapter Twenty-Two – Into the Dark 

He woke to find a wand pointing to his side, though nothing had changed. The pain was still there, and he found his cloak and shirt stained red. Wincing, he tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but the pain kept him from moving. He yelped as the skin and muscles throbbed, and his eyes watered.

"Shh," a soothing voice whispered. It was Hermione. She was leaning over his body, trying to heal his wound, but was unsuccessful.

"What—" Ron began, but Hermione put her hand over his mouth.

"I said, 'shh'! You were hit by a spear," she told him, caressing his hair slowly. "But, don't you worry now, Draco is getting help."

Ron glared up at her, with all the strength he could. "You call him Draco now?"

She smirked. "Oh, quiet you. You just calm down and relax." She ripped a piece of her cloak off, and soaked up some of his blood. She then used her sleeve to wipe his perspiration off. "You're sweating too much. Just breathe."

"I would," he snarled, "if it didn't hurt so much."

Hermione looked at him in concern, and began stroking his hair again. "Please, Ron, just calm down."

Someone entered the room, and came around the two. It was Draco.

"I'm so stupid. Why on earth would I think someone would help? These are _Death Eaters_ here!" He sighed as he looked at Ron. "Well, at least your conscious. How are you feeling?"

Ron shook his head. "Not too good."

Draco glanced at Hermione, who looked at the floor sadly. He put a hand on her shoulder, and looked back at Ron. "You'll have to stay here, while we move on."

"Move on?!" Hermione shrieked. "We can't leave Ron here, alone…_bleeding!_"

"Well? We're going to have to. It's either leave me," Ron argued, "or leave Harry."

Hermione grabbed his hand. "Well, I'm not leaving you here alone." She looked up at Malfoy. "Draco, you go on. You know this place; you know how to get around here. Go get Harry."

"No," Ron said. "Harry won't trust him. He doesn't know Malfoy's on our side."

Draco nodded. "Ron's right. Harry would never follow me."

Hermione sighed. "Well, _I_ can't go on alone: I don't know where to go."

"Both of you go!" Ron yelled, gasping for air after he did so. Hermione turned back to him as he winced, and caressed his head. "Aren't you hearing me?" he said, a bit quieter this time. "I said, go."

Hermione shook her head, violently. "No, no. You're not being left alone in this condition." She ripped another shred from her cloak, and pressed down on his side. Her hair dangled into his face, and tickled his cheeks. He couldn't help but slightly smile at her worried face, and determination to let him live.

"Honestly, Herm," he whispered, feeling unconsciousness beginning to creep up upon him. It was luring him to sleep, pulling him closer and closer to ultimate darkness. "I'll be fine. It's Harry I'm worried about. Boy can't keep himself out of trouble."

Forcing a smile, Hermione squeezed his hand. "Okay, I'll go. But you _promise_ you'll hang in there, okay?"

Squeezing her hand back, Ron nodded. "I promise."

Hermione then stood, her lean body towering over the still bleeding Ron. "Keep that cloak on you. Call if you need help. I swear, I'll be right back." She nodded at Draco, who nodded back. He smiled at Ron.

"Good luck, Ron."

Ron smiled back. "Thanks, Draco."

Hermione and Draco gave one last comforting look at Ron, before continuing down the corridor, which led into the dark. Ron watched them leave as long as possible, trying to hold on to consciousness, but the black sleep wrapped around him, and he fell into a coma. 


	23. Lost and Found

**__**

Chapter Twenty-Three – Lost and Found

He woke with a start: someone else was there with him. But there was no light, and therefore, unable to see who it was. Someone small, _much_ smaller than him. He also had a feeling this person was sleeping. He tried to stand, but was too weak to do get up. The lack of food caused him to be feeble.

He wondered how long he had been there. Months, at least. Maybe even years. He had lost all track of time. He missed his home, and wanted so desperately to get back to seeing his friends. He just wanted everything normal. But he had known for a long time, that nothing would be normal anymore.

The smell of blood and urine from past prisoners in the cell seeped into his nose and mouth and he covered both with his large hand, trying to filter the fumes out. At least when he was asleep, he didn't smell any of that. Strange though: he thought he would have gotten used to it by now. He had gotten used to the rats. They were always crawling around on him. He began to think of them as pets, rather than pests. He had even named a few: Eenie, Meenie, Minee, and Moe.

Light was coming from down the hallway. He looked up to see someone walking towards the cell. He hoped the person was coming to get him...the sooner it was over, the better. To his joyful heart, the Death Eater said, "Come," and opened the door for him to be let out.

This time, he was able to stand, and he did so happily. _The end is near,_ he told himself, over and over again. _The end is near, and I couldn't be happier._ He was led up a flight of stairs, and out of the dungeons.

It was a shame: had be been collected two minutes later, he could have been rescued by Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.

^*^*^ 

Crude smells hit their noses first, then the sound of breathing. Draco moved his light over some to see that there was indeed a cell there, just where he had imagined. In the cell, there was a body, though the body was unrecognizable. But Hermione, with her feminine intuition, suddenly screamed, "_Harry!_"

The body stirred, and sat up, yawning as it did so. "Who? Who's there?"

Hermione flung herself against the metal bars, and tried to pry the door open. "Harry!" she cried, unashamed of the strong emotion that flooded her voice. "It's me, Hermione!"

"Hermione?" He sat up, his eyes still blacked out. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, of course," Malfoy interrupted. "And if you don't mind, I have a feeling we need to leave here _now_…"

"Malfoy?!" Harry squeaked.

"Yes, it's me. Now, let's get you out of there." Draco pulled a wand from his pocket, and whispered "_Alohamora!_" to the lock. After a few seconds, the door unlocked, and Hermione was able to rush in and hug Harry.

Hermione looked at Draco as she cradled Harry in her arms. "Doesn't seem like very good security."

Draco shook his head. "It only opens to Death Eater wands. It's very secure."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "Is Ron here?"

Draco walked into the cell, where Harry lay, curled in Hermione's lap. "Can't you see he's not?"

"No, I can't. I'm blind."

Hermione gasped, and Draco looked as though he was going to be sick. Harry strained his eyes, but couldn't see anything except darkness.

Gulping, Draco stammered, "Well…that, er, is a p-problem, isn't it?"

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, hugging him tighter. "What did they do to you?"

"I dunno…where…where am I?" Harry asked, trying to escape Hermione strong grasp.

"In Voldemort's dungeon," Draco said, somewhat coldly. "And not to rush you two in this touching moment, but I'd rather leave before he decides to kill all of us."

"Dungeon?" Harry exclaimed. "Well, that explains the foul smells, and the rats." He forced himself to stand, and leaned on Hermione's shoulder for support. "Well? Which way out, oh-mighty Malfoy?"

"Hermione, lead him this way," Draco said with strong authority. He held his wand out to them, its end bright with the Lumos spell. Harry stood on his feet, and he stumbled for a moment, clutching to Hermione's arm. She steadied him, while giving a strong look of distress to Draco. He returned the look, his eyes locking with Hermione's.

Harry and Hermione held each other, Harry's eyes able to do nothing except endanger their rescue mission. They had to walk slowly, too slowly for Hermione's liking, who was anxious to find Ron and get out.

"Almost there, Herm," Draco suddenly informed her, causing her to smile and quicken her pace a bit. But a sudden thundering yell from above them caused the three to stop suddenly, and look up.

"I recognize that voice," Harry whispered. Squeezing Hermione's arm, he started to lead her in the opposite direction the crest where Draco, Ron, and Hermione had entered from. 

"Harry, no!" Hermione said, feeling as though she was talking to a three-year-old. She pulled him back, but he let go of her, and started walking in the direction of the scream anyway.

Draco cursed. "Get back here!" He looked at Hermione. "Why is he acting like a little lost puppy?" He then ran after the stumbling Harry, who was running into walls and constantly tripping over the not-so-smooth ground.

Biting her lip, Hermione then followed both boys. She watched as Draco took Harry's arm, and said, "Do you really want to go see what that was?"

"I have a bad feeling, Malfoy. I know that voice. I need to know…"

Draco nodded. "Alright. This way, Harry. But if we get killed…"

Harry didn't respond.


	24. Excursion at End

**__**

Chapter Twenty-Four – Excursion at End

Another bellow reached three sets of ears, and each set shivered. A loud thud rattled the ground, and Harry then knew for a fact what had happened. He tugged on Draco harder, wanted to get to the scene faster. He had to get there, he had to find out of it was all a dream…he prayed it was a dream…

They stopped walking. Harry could sense a larger room in front of him, which is where all of his fears had taken place.

"Is Voldemort there?" Harry whispered to Draco, who shook his head, though Harry didn't know that. "Well?"

"No. No, there's just…_something_…on the ground. Something large and…oh God! It's a person!"

Harry's heart sank. "See who it is," he told Draco, though he needed no confirmation. Draco led him closer, and Harry could feel Hermione still behind him, though trying hard to stay away from the body as much as possible.

Draco squinted, consequence of the dark blue illumination which filled the room. "I think it may be…it is!" he exclaimed, looking up at Hermione. "Isn't it? Please say I'm wrong."

"No," she answered, her voice weak and cracking. "No, you're right." She turned around and walked a few paces away, bringing her hand to her mouth. 

"It's Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Yes," whispered Draco. He walked a few paces closer to the large lump that lay on the ground, the lump which was Hagrid.

Her voice weak, and soaking with tears, Hermione whispered, "I want to go home, now."

Harry and Draco both nodded, and Harry grabbed Draco's hand again. Draco led Harry and Hermione back to the door, all three prepared to go home, when—

"Ron!" Draco suddenly shouted, remembering their injured comrade they had left at the crest. "We need to go get him."

They descended down to the crest, hearing only their footsteps and Hermione's light sobs echo around the hall. Harry patted her shoulder lightly, doing everything a blind man could do to keep the girl from exploding into hysterics. In return, Hermione laid her head on Harry's shoulder, the tears steaming down her cheeks, onto his filthy shirt. He didn't mind.

Nobody said anything, all were too upset over Hagrid's death. Draco's head was spinning with grief—and guilt. He knew quite well that it was his father, Lucius, who had planned the capture of Rubeus Hagrid. All that he could do to keep the tears from streaming down his face, was remember that his father was dead too.

It was Harry who first spoke. "Where _is_ Ron?"

This caused Hermione to start crying harder. Harry patted her arm. "What? What did I say?"

"Ron's injured," Draco stated coldly. "He wasn't doing so well when we left." His eyes then transformed from an ice blue, to a soothing cerulean. He whispered, "don't mention it too much. Hermione's very distraught. Oh," he said, a bit louder, "here's the crest."

Hermione squealed and ran ahead of them. She knelt down by the comatose Ronald Weasley. She felt his neck, searching for a pulse. Looking up at Draco, she silently prayed and whimpered. "He's alive, but unconscious."

Draco nodded. "Alright." He lifted his wand, and said, "_mobilarbus!_" and Ron's body lifted off the ground, his arms and legs dangling. Hermione took both his hands and crossed them over his chest. 

"Come on, Harry," Draco said, taking Harry's shoulder. "We need to get home."


	25. Karma

**__**

Chapter Twenty-Five – Karma

"Oh my goodness! Lie him down, yes, yes, right there!"

Draco lowered Ron onto one of the empty beds in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey hustled over, inspecting the wound on Ron's chest which had turned dark red...almost black. She gasped. "What happened?!"

"Long story, one that I should tell to Headmaster Dumbledore first," Draco answered, wincing as the nurse stripped Ron of his bloody shirt. He sad down, because his knees were shaking so violently. Hermione, meanwhile, laid Harry down next to Ron. 

"Any improvement in eyesight?" she asked him, waving her hand in front of him.

He shook his head. "Uh…no…" he answered, fatigue paying its toll on him. He closed his useless eyes, and sank deeper into the comfortable mattress. "Go…" his voice fell quiet. "Go tell Dumbledore…"

Hermione nodded, and stayed by the side of the bed a few extra minutes until she was sure the raven-haired boy was asleep. She then turned to Draco. "We need to go talk to Dumbledore," she said, causing him to look up from Ron.

Standing, Draco nodded. "Okay. But…where do we begin? I mean…where does this story begin?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered breathlessly, heading for the door. She then stopped short, seeing a black dog panting in front of her. She beamed, and then dropped to her knees. She wrapped her thin arms around the shaggy canine, and he licked her ear. "Oh, Snuffles!"

Feet suddenly came into her view, and she looked up to see the Headmaster and Remus Lupin, who was looking particularly frightened. She frowned at them, still not letting go of the dog. 

"Is it bad?" Lupin asked, looking past Draco Malfoy into the infirmary. His eyes lost their glitter as Draco sadly nodded his head, looking over his shoulder at Ron. He sighed, and looked up at the Headmaster. "Sir, I believe we," he nodded at Hermione, "should talk."

"I believe that is a very good idea."

Dumbledore led Draco and Hermione to his office, while Sirius and Lupin stayed by Ron and Harry. He sat in his chair, analyzing their faces. "Something more serious then Mr. Weasley's injury and Mr. Potter's eyesight, or lack there of, is bothering you two. What on earth is the matter?"

Hermione, unable to control her self any longer, exploded into tears, while falling into a chair. "Oh, Professor!" she cried, her voice barley audible. "Hagrid! It's Hagrid..."

The old man's eyes closed, and he sighted heavily. He had feared this as soon as he had stopped receiving letters. "He is dead?"

"Yes sir," Draco answered, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "But perhaps I'd better tell the entire story."

Dumbledore agreed, and Draco went into the saga, about his father, Neville, Harry being kidnapped, Ron's injury, and Hagrid's death. With each depressing detail, Albus Dumbledore's face became paler, and his body shook slightly. Durlseys, Lucius, Bill, Fudge, _Hagrid_...it was hard to stomach. 

Eventually, Draco's story finished, and his eyes were slightly watery. He looked down at the bushy brown hair that fell around his fingertips, He slowly began massaging Hermione's shoulder, and her breathing slowed and was a normal rhythm after a few minutes. 

Dumbledore stood. "You two are free to go. You may go to the Gryffindor common room, or the infirmary." He smiled sadly. "I must contact the Weasley family." 

Hermione and Malfoy headed to the door, and walked out, working their way back to the hospital wing. The idea of the common room never even crossed their mind: they only wanted to see Ron and Harry. Hermione played with her robes uneasily, while Draco eyed her, worried. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, but then cursed himself. _What a stupid question,_ he thought. 

"I should have gone second," Hermione replied, her voice barley above a whisper. "He wouldn't have gotten hurt, then."

Draco shook his head. "No, he was just too tall, Herm. He would never have made it."

She smiled slightly at the use of the nickname, then frowned again. "But if..."

" 'If ifs and buts were candy and nuts'," Draco recited intelligently. "It's not your fault. Karma."

"Karma?"

"You know, Karma. Someone about was getting him back for not trusting me."

Hermione frowned. "You were never gotten back for treating us so poorly," she said, referring to herself, and the rest of the Gryffindors. 

"I didn't need punishment," Draco Malfoy replied, looking away from her. "I just needed to be freed."

^*^*^

"The summer has come."

The students listened quietly. Draco, from the Slytherin table, caught Hermione Granger's eye and winked, causing her to smile.

"Each one of you has gained qualities which will help you in your future years. Whether they be pure knowledge, bravery, or friendship," Dumbledore seemed to eye Draco and Hermione, "you will never forget what we have gone through this year.

"Fear plagues each of us, including me. But the bravery that I have seen in all of you has caused me to rise above my fright and has allowed me to carry on with life. I hope that you all received a bout of courage from your friends, and have been able to deal with the outside world with brighter eyes, and higher chins.

"Remember that names mean nothing. _Voldemort_ is only a name, and cannot hurt your ears." He frowned a bit as some mumbles from the students sounded at the name. "It is only the man inside of him which can do any danger.

"So many of you, if not all, believe the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort is our very own Harry Potter. I'm proud to say that is not the case. Each of you hold the power to conquer him at his own game. Be brave, never back down, and he shall fall again. And maybe next time, he will fall forever.

"I would like to give mention to those who cannot be with us today at our closing feast. Mr. Harry Potter, who lost his eyesight in the face of danger. Mr. Ronald Weasley, who is in a sever coma after receiving a traumatizing blow to the chest, while saving his best friend Harry. And finally, to a teacher so many of you have respected. I only regret the first years were not able to know his light-hearted, honorable, and gracious spirit which so many of us loved. I, of course, am speaking of the deceased Mr. Rubeus Hagrid."

A few students gasped at this: never had the news of Hagrid's death been announced. 

"It is terrible!" Dumbledore cried over the noise. "But we must all realize that he died bravely and without fear. Of this, I am sure.

"He was killed by Voldemort. The innocent man was captured while doing a mission for the Ministry and me. He never completed this mission. He was buried in the Forbidden Forrest, a place that he prized and visited without hesitation. He was a good, kind man, of whom I shall never forget. Let us raise our glass, to Rubeus Hagrid."

The students raised the glasses, and muttered, "Rubeus Hagrid", before taking a small sip.

Hermione Granger silently cried.

So did Draco Malfoy.

**__**

The End


	26. Author's Ending Note

**_Author's Notes _**

Yes. The story is over. Fifth year has come and gone.

I want to thank special reviewers, whom without, I would never have completed this story.

_Anonymous Moi:_ Who are you!? Thank you so much for your words!

_Followers:_ And _where_ is the rest of _your_ story!? Your compliments are too sweet! JK Rowling?! Me! Never!

_Phee: _Little is needed to be said. Thank you.

_Persephone:_ God, I love you girl! Special thanks to her for the last chapters!

_Jordan:_ Pan, Pan, Pan. Thank you, buddy. You're beautiful!

I have a feeling some of you are mad at me right now. Oh, hush up! Wasn't it a sad ending? I thought so. Thought it was real dramatic. Painful to write! Hagrid...dead! But, like I said, fifth year has come and gone.

Time for sixth year.

Thanks right folks! I will be supplying a sequel! Look for _Harry Potter and the Nocturnal Fear_, coming to bookstores near y--::sigh:: ::disappointed sounding:: Coming to a website near you....

** NOCTURNAL FEAR IS UP! http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=726463 **

Thank you! Come again!

_With all my love and theatrical heart,_

_Becca Riddle  
RebaProngs  
MageMoony  
SnufflesStar  
Lordsbecca  
Flick!_

_That-Kick-Ass-Writer_


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